"In Touch Myself"
I can't seem to find her
The reminder of yesterday
I shut my eyes for a few seconds
Only there, can I reach to bear upon her face
The moment I open my eyes
The earth opens and she disappears
Every now and then
Darkness takes form around the blank wall
It brings out a long lost silhouette.
-I inhale a small desire,
reaching and tracing every line left behind.
I Just can't seem to reach her
The girl drowning deep inside
I turn around to look and feel no one by my side
It's been long since she slowly faded away
I gaze into the mirror and miss her every day
For one second past,
I swear she was there.
Lately, I can't seem to find her
That girl I was before
Empty feelings continue to lounge about
Rejecting yesterday away.
-Honestly, I don't know why I bother,
holding on to somebody that is no longer there?
By:PD

~ZOMBIE NIGHT~
WHINING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair
Bones slowly desert distorted resting homes
Ascension of the dead -Longing to live again
Sands of desert flip the hour glass back
WHIMPERING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair
Bones slowly desert distorted resting homes
Taking light from where evil stays
Feeding away leaving behind a death valley zone
WONDERING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair
Dead souls forsake the common land
Shadowing like Equinox light
Walking corpse covered in rotten barren sand
WINDY WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Upright, forward broken taboo
Searching for the perfect breath of fresh air
Sounds of symbols march the ground
Searching to find their missing heartbeat
WHISKING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Ascension of the dead -Long to live again
Bones slowly desert distorted resting home
Moonlight vanishing in complete despair
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
WHEN WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
by;PD

I stare at my ceiling,
I start to wonder, why am I not healing?
Then it dawns on me,
The nightmare clip starts to roll.
I shake and shiver and wince at every little thing.
I'm scared to death,
What does this all mean?
I start to cry,
I feel as if I might die.
Then I grab my blade,
The tears come quicker.
My breath starts to quicken,
My grip on the blade makes my knuckles turn white.
In the mirror is where I see that my ivory skin is now blotchy and red.
I tell myself, "This may be the last time, if you finally cut deep enough."
So I try my best not to make a sound
As I sit up in bed and hold my wrist out in front of me.
I count to three,
One,
I put the blade to my wrist.
Two,
I start to add pressure.
Three,
I yank the blade across my skin,
It pierces and then I start to bleed.
I suddenly want it to stop,
But there's no going back now.
I wonder why it came to this,
I know nobody cares about me,
I know nobody is going to forget me.
Quietly I say, "I'm sorry."
But nobody is there,
No one will ever be.
I start to fade out of this world,
My addiction would finally be gone,
And so would I.
I was lost,
Lost and angry.
Suddenly, it was gone,
I woke up screaming.
The pain was oh-so real.

Featuring: SCRAP METAL
----------------------
Fresh sand garments
The Mental Colosseum floor
Self infliction's--waging wars
----------------------
~ AND THE POEM BEGINS ~
A mask, tiny holes
Breathing heavily
Dancing around my toes
Broad carbon steel
Safe behind my will
Equipment of revenge
Fencing the world with my eyes
I bow, with the morning dew,
My mind a dual in its own world.
When the curtains lift,
I prepare myself with a weapon--
Epee Crest to protect my chest
A sword sharper than fangs
I circle my blade around the door knob
Ready to face the world
Practicing --in hopes today I won't retreat
“Fencers ready!"
ATTACK!
A magical knightress
Painted in white
"Let's dance!"
~ THE SHOW BEGINS ~
Queen Amri "VS" The Damsel
Wishing it was over
Stainless steel echoes
“Every poke counts”
Hoping & Taking
No room to disengage ---I retreat
Peacefully I secure my stance
On Guard!
I lean in, I disengage ---I flee
Back again, I lunge
The Queen is to smart to retreat
I -Amri, parry away from the argument of the lunge.
Recoil & Double tapped
In and out….. I'm struck
Boldness---
Back to the drawing board
On guard, I stand like a statue
Out of breath; feels like i’m dying
Yet I am still fighting.
The Queen knows what to do.
TODAY~
I Yield, She Wins!
Raising our foils
---At the on guard of another day
I move in swiftly, cutting like razor blades
Using refreshed energy
24 / 7
I attack, She provokes!
Sand runs its course
Victorious against the queen
Touch – tied – triumph -- Touché
Standing on my own 2 feet
I am the
-Grand Finale Show-
Conquering The Battles Inside
TODAY~
-I WIN!-
by;PD

If my mind be painted in colors borrowed, would it be red?
Rusted in brown, or maybe instead, an indigo streak?
Depending upon the source of inspiration,
and the song on the radio at the time of connection...
I keep coming back to sea green,
or the blue of underwater murals at 3ft tall of childhood,
eyes wide in fickle, transient hazel
absorbing each moment, be it safe or unstable
categorizing each scent and each color
each love and each valor
each crisp Autumn, Summer
in vats of brain paint to be later unlidded
and splashed with insignias
of every person and place and event
that ever touched corneas innocent, bent
on absorption.
If my mind be painted, I think it be green
like the moment I'm lucid before I dip dreams
and hang them to dry in the gallery
"Mind's Eye"
and push to wake up to connect, signify
every sensory path that I've traveled before
to traipse them again and still come back for more.
I'm a stickler for art and with your canvas blank
my sweet innocent dear, with each word that you hear
you will brush stroke your way to uniqueness.

Along the mountain pine valley did the Iron Horse roar,
A steam belching black demon, burning red hot coals
Within it's steel belly.
Speed's hell bound creation, driven by greed's insatiable hunger,
Faster, faster it moves at acceleration rush, to
Achieve manifest destiny's final arrival on time.
In the distance hear another lone whistle blow, spitting,
And spewing with brimstone's gray smoke.
This indeed is the devil's train, carrying the forsaken,
To the depot of no return.
With a half empty payload aboard, Satan makes a deadly
Judgment call, stoke up those engines boys, ramming
Speed if you please.
Made man beasts are these mechanical monsters
Of destructions, lethal death weapons, chained
Down to the steel rails, and iron pikes.
Ebony stallion's racing against the winds,
As redden sparks sizzle and bite at the crisp autumn
Air, bellowing fumes poisoning the night.
The engineer of the 10; 15 out of Tombstone,
Checked his pocket watch, speaking impatiently,
He did so yell out, come along fellow's, we have a
Schedule to keep, and we've hours behind in our dead line,
So let’s pick up the pace.
Now the devil's train came out of know where,
With hell's supernatural master at the wheel,
Heckling, and laughing, relishing in the carnage’s
Utter calamity to come.
On a lone chewed up mangled piece of track,
Lies wreckages debris blood, flesh and twisted metal,
Lain stewned for miles beside the wild wilderness.
Broken bones, and sheared off limbs, weeping mother's
Cradling limp, lifeless bodies, crying why, God almighty
Why?
But the lord and heavenly father, had nothing to do,
With this unnatural disaster, nay the devil had many
Empty spaces to fill, and his passengers list was lean.
So he leveled the crimson ground with his dark gavel,
Taking souls at high velocities supernatural speed,
For this is the devil's ghost train, and it is so
Hell bound.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.

Whistle does the lone desert winds, flowing downwards from
Boot hill cemetery, in icy chilling breeze full of echoing voices,
From the past, begging for redemptions last chance of salvation.
Roll does the crimson tumbleweed, towards the ghost town known as
Tombstone, a monuments graveyard to the old west.
In this rock cactus garden of venomous vipers, did the righteous
Live, amongst the uncivilized lawless, in this wildness country,
Of the unbridled frontier.
Blinded by greed's lightning flash, for quick money and easy cash,
Did the earth expose evil's shining metal, silver, from deep within,
Accursed is this place, purgatory's hell on earth, its deadly soil marred
And sanctified in blood sacrifice.
Left to the scorpions and rattlesnakes, as the only living inhabitants,
Ramshackle buildings remain, abandonment’s delinquent tribute
To a once thriving community.
But after night fall, others come forth, crossing the threshold of the
Nether underworld, the gun slinger, the gambler, and ladies of
Reputation's ill repute, claim this desert real estate for their own
Dark amusement park, still whooping it up at the bird cage theatre,
Indulging themselves. In all manor of seductions insidious erotic acts
Of depravity.
The condemned soulless walk these dusty sandy streets of limbo,
Forever banished are these bastered son's of the gun. Or until the last
Shot is fired at the O.K. Corral, on high noon's final sunrise.
Satan is the lawful sheriff here, in this the territory of the forsaken,
And his loyal deputy the Grim Reaper controls the posses of the undead.
Riding against the redden moon, seeking any innocent soul trying
To escape from this desert prison.
You've drawn the dead man's hand my friend, if you find yourself lost here,
For the condemned show no mercy's reprieve to outsiders, the screaming
Souls shout from above, run lone cowboy run, and don't look back,
For the devils possess rides behind thee, and the dark lord,
Takes no prisoner's alive.
Whistle do the lone desert winds, flowing downwards from
Boot hill cemetery, in icy chilling breeze full of echoing voices,
From the past, begging for redemptions last chance of salvation.
But light concurs darkness, and death's icy grip fades at the
First rays of sunrise, and all evil must return to their crypts
Beneath the earth, from the dust from when'est they came,
Until the next moon's rising, then wide will the gates of hell,
Swing again, releasing the germinate residences of a city,
Named Tomb Stone.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Only in a Different Life
Looking through the window of a shop,
I see you with a woman.
She lifts long auburn hair
while you, who stand behind her,
are fastening a strand of pearls
around her slender neck.
I close my eyes envisioning. . .
I've opened them to you facing me,
and I'm the woman
with the red-brown locks!
You touch my cheek, and in your eyes
I read an urgent need.
You lead me to the door,
around the corner to an empty alley.
Our bodies press together.
In the chill of night,
I taste warm, wild kisses on my mouth.
"Darling, my darling," escapes my lips,
then suddenly my reverie is broken.
A passerby has stopped
to place a dollar in my cup.
Murmuring my thanks,
I gaze once more into the store where
diamond rings and necklaces glitter
like new snow beneath a winter moon.
The man whom I could know
only in a different life,
who stands inside the store
where I could never go,
takes his sweetheart's hand,
leads her past me
pretending not to see
a common homeless woman
who yearns for so much more
than mere necessities.
(One of my very first poems posted at Soup. All I can see are
congrats for being featured, so I don't believe it was ever in
a contest!)

Our dark founding father, of American literature,
A sinister beacon of darkness, lighting the way
Into the darkened abyss of mankind’s soul.
Within the galleria of madness, he is the
Grandmaster of the black ink, and it's
Written words of terror.
In thus the shadow realm, does his spirit
Still roam, on the cutting edge of fear,
A fine thin line, is drawn between reality,
And fictions illusionary world.
Life's a shunned, abandonment’s creation,
The lord's misbegotten son, embraced
The night's cloak, in it's power
His only salvation unto history's
Remembrance, is found a truth's
Justice and notability's respect.
Loves passionate compliant servant,
Dashed against the rocks of life itself,
Broken and damaged, he rose above
The waves of poverty, and the under
Current of tragedies broken
Heart.
Some may say he wrote from the after
Effects that laid, at the bottom
Of the bottle.
Or afterfeeds drug endued comma, dulling
The emotional nerves concept between
Right and wrong, the social exceptionable
Norm.
But we care not what others wish to believe,
For we honor him, those of us the dark poets,
As the father whom lead the way, between
Light and dark.
Dearest Edger Allen Poe, the legend, the man,
A spiritual dark representative, with pens quailed
Ink at his command.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

It seems like everybody around me has forgotten,
they're stuck on a thought again,
saying alot and whining more.
Preying on their own self-doubts,
they have so much,
yet see so little.
so stubborn.
Can't they see that 64 inch TV,
or feel the beating of the jets in their hot tub ?
They measure their lives too much,
they have fallen into the "Great American Dream Sham"
as my friend "Chad Williams Lowther" would say !
Its a ruse,
an antidote,
so they can make changes in their lives which they normally wouldn't do,
because they lack the strength and insight,
so they get stuck in their minds.
Wheels spin,
tears fall,
marriages crumble
and the damn kids are really suffering,
cause they don't have the latest video gizmo box.
Thoughtless over-reactions of self- abuse,
much like an addict who is never satisfied.
"The Great American Dream Sham" sucked them in,
they forgot,
macroni and cheese,
kool-aid,
saturday morning cartoons and matinees.
All replaced by todays goals and desires,
which are masquerading as tired souls trying to find solice,
stuck in "the Great American Dream Sham"
and now saying all there is to say,
Hail, Hail to me
and all who are free,
all who go their own way
and all who see though it !

What shall I see when I see a picture of you
Frame against rainbow of eternity?
I dream of you ... upon the canvas of my heart ...
Will your eyes melt the sonwflakes, do they
Like the sea glisten with the glow of hidden pearls
Are your ears to be the promegranates of my tongue
And how shall your lips taste to me?
I have dreamt of sweet pineapples, or mangoes
Or some cool sweet thing red with passion
Inflaming the skin
The first otaheite apple of the season.
When you smile, do your lips move like a palm
Slowly yielding to the joy of the wind
And shall dance from sip to sip a hummingbird
Longing to enter the deep throated flower?
I want to see you delicious as happiness
To hold you inthe perfect pear of my heart
Where sunrise lingers long, and night is like a song.
My spirit longs to cuddle you and build my nest
Upon the cushion of your brimming breasts.
O but the night has long, long miles to cross
And spirit glees while flesh counts the distant cost.

FLAWLESS
A flawless world.. Giving by your mother
Humanity holding hands like lovers..
Strung out deep into the sign of religion.
A flawless day at the park feeding pigeons
Attracting the positive light from the sun.
Where Global warming is undone.
A place where beauty is not found in the face.
Flawless beyond the mystery of space.
'Love' will be a feeling no one will resist .
'Hate' will be a word that won't exist.
Handing out smiles on a silver plate.
A world opened to the golden gate.
Flawless like the wind brushing my hair.
Where my heart is filled with the warmness of care.
A flawless victory, even if we must die!
A flawless world, in a flawless dream.
Now wake me up before I scream.
~SKAT~

"Dear Time"
Thank you for being patient,
Thank you for understanding I'm human after all.
Forgive me for all the mischievous prank calls.
Much of what I said and done, was out of fun.
Now, I sit on this rocking chair getting old.
Reminiscing over the beauty and honor it has been
Passing this land we call "EARTH."
Reminiscing over the beauty and honor, yes-------------- REMINISCING!
Sorry if I repeat the same beat a thousand times....
You see, I sit here everyday thinking this world is mine....
Trying not to forget, who I truly AM.
Every moment there has ever been or ever will be,
Finally is taking a toll on every single feeling and memory.
Time, Yes------------------ TIME!
The wrinkles on my face will never describe how many birthdays I celebrate.
The wrinkles on my face are stories reminding my readers,
Where I've been and come from.
How consistent, and fortunate I've been,
Babbling about my past, present, and future;
The only advantage of the word "TIME."
-- It helps fade hurting moments away--
You see, time is the essence of memories.
Dear Time,
"Growing from young into old, was not as easy as it sounds."
Please be patient with me... Wait..... I said that already....
Thank you for understanding what I’m going through.
Please just listen, please, be patient with what's burning deep down inside.
It's almost dinner time --once again, I mention the word "TIME!"
I'm not hungry right now, the food just isn't the same when fed through a straw.
Besides, have you seen the garments ''they'' have me wearing.
Never thought I'd live to see myself in old fashioned nightgowns.
Time, keeps adding silver to what used to be pretty reddish brown hair.
Time what have you done to me?
Please excuse if I can't work a remote or function the TV properly.
What has happened to simple technology,
When everything came with only "ON and OFF" buttons.
Try to understand what I’m going through, my legs never felt this tired before.
I can't seem to keep myself on the same path,
I lose track of time when navigation issues on my own.
Dear Time,
Take my hand, lead the way and understand I can't see as before.
Time, please allow the joy to take its time when my end is near.
Thank you Time, for all the loving moments we shared...
Thank you Time and please be kind and end my life with love.
End my life with love-----
End my life with love-----
Wait..... I said that already....
Dear Time,
Thanks for having patience.
Sincerely Yours
The Little Old Lady Across the Street
by;PD

Love was in the air when he laid eyes on her.
Childhood; elementary and even high school with her.
Walking towards her, he greeted her.
Anxiety spiraled as he hugged her.
Conversation grew deeper as he sat with her.
Wanting to get closer because he was falling for her.
Another woman called pausing the time he was having with her.
Knowing he had to answer; he stepped away and spoke to her.
She stated that something wasn't quite right with her.
She said that her stomach had been bothering her.
Now he's thinking back if he came inside her.
Thinking if she lied to him about her tubes being tied within her.
Does he blame himself for listening to her?
Knowing right from wrong and yet he can't blame her.
Does he blame the devil for allowing him to be intimate with her?
Is he not a human that makes mistakes just like her?
Begging God to make a way for him and her.
Asking God to forgive him for committing the sin with her.
God said, "relax my son, you were only dreaming of her."

Yesterday my shadow whispered in my ear,
do you want to know what it said?
Your shadow despises you
and your conscience hates you.
Your strength is weakened by your honesty.
Your ambition is black with envy.
You say hi to your hatred and bye to your conviction.
You can hear the north but you search for the South.
Core is your vanity, deep is your black.
Punish with your breath.
Shaken from the top, shove to be last.
Mules with the load that Carries your soul
Pieces of yourself ravage with the blackness of your pain
Stillness capture like the light of night.
This dry flake, waters your commitment
soiled with the cloth of your distance.
The well, the well crumbles with the
wake of your silence.
The steam from your voice, it's not your own.
Somebody told me the sky was blue, is it true.

If you could paint a picture of silence
What color would it be?
Would you use the brush of fog to hush all sound
A shade of gray, with touch of brown,
where eaves are dripping to the ground
and windows weep their quiet tears
Where solitude obscures the view
In a slate of lonely winterlude?
Or would it be a shade of green
A forest deep, of muted breeze
No sound to scatter birds from trees
No broken branches, swaying grasses
Missteps that crackle the fallen leaves
Untouched by clatter, harsh and rude?
Would silence be as black as night
A cave too deep for shards of light
A void within a famished core
A well of dark and empty shores?
Or would silence be of many hues?
A rainbow shade of morning dew
A soft pastel of sun declining?
No bedlam, blast or blare of noise
Could break the spell, a silent voice
As if the soul could slip away....
A hush, immense.....so sweet and keen,
Like ghosts unseen, or angels soft as air...
A silent sea, ....where mountains lend an ear
As clouds pile high, ....and wait to hear...
Only for this: such peace....such bliss
A sound so small, ... as welcome as a sigh

You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.

Why me dear God in heaven's
Name why me?
Awaiting for a divine answers reply.
Kneeling at the lords sacred altar,
Lit candles flickering all about her
A bowed head in reverences honor.
In prayers hands tenderly cradling her,
Rosary.
She has been blessed by an angel's,
Healing touch.
Realizes not a mightier power stands,
Before her, shielding his lamb from,
Harms way.
Faith guides this believers soul,
Homeward unto grace.
She is truly not alone in this fight,
Rekindle a divine spark within,
Rage against the fading light,
And behold of a new dawning.
Humanities loving spirit everlasting,
Its our greatest weapon.
And many hands rest upon,
It's hilt.
Behold the sword of hope
With it's sharpened edge.
And millions lend their strength
Of will behind it's wielding power.
We are here my friend, my sister,
Always.
Let this evil shadow pass, give it
No binding power.
Shake off fears disbelief, know,
Sister warrior on this battle field,
Women must fight together.
United standing strong,
Fixed on one single goal survival.
A pink ribbon may represent
The cause,
But within life's circle the
Human touch comforts a
Spiritual soul.
With faith's devotion as her
Guardian’s shield it will carry such
A brave lady,
Through hells fire and beyond.
Remember your not alone
Against our common enemy
Named Cancer.
One day we will find a cure.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

I have chosen You.
Sweet and handsome mortal, come to me…
Whisper to me your longings,
and I shall tickle your ear with my saccharine breath.
I shall take you to places
where only gods and goddesses roam.
Aware am I of how my radiant beauty entrances you...
Be thankful to the Fates that it is you I have chosen.
I have sprung forth from Ocean's foam,
but we shall churn that sea...
Flowers at my feet would pale
to the flowers that spring forth from my heart
How I know too well that my eyes mesmerize
A twinkle from the windows of my soul
and I know I have captured you.
I would gladly take off these necklaces ‘round my supple neck
if it means that your lips trail soft kisses instead…
I would happily unclasp these brooches in my hair,
and let my flowing tresses
tickle your gorgeous face and body,
as I take my turn to adorn you with my kisses.
I shall discard these golden robes made by the Kharites and the Horai
and reveal my nubile body for you to explore
with your eyes…
…with your hands
with your lips…
Let the Seasons be forgotten,
as we move to only know of Love.
I have chosen You.
Sweet and handsome mortal, Come to me…
August 5, 2010

Kiss me, I want to lift you skirt flying
Inside my heart like the wind
To dance on clouds of joy my kite
Embracing time, to hold you in my arms and spin
Festively playing in the clouds
Long lines of passion I can feel
Yearning against my string
Intermittingly fawning as you bow
Naked to the throb of wind
Garrulous like a lover moaninng
The scintillated light.
Etched upon the sweat shining
Silver shafts of ribs
Tensed in every fibre and nerve of being
...
I want to press my lips
Upon your cheeks, prettier than confetti paper
And let the golden sunlight drips
Chocolate of satisfaction on my tongue
Because I made a kite like this
Then to breathe your fragrance
Falling free
From every jasmine of your limb
Where the lissome bamboos hold firm
The quivering of my string
And when the wind exhausted
Make you loop and dip
Before suppliant eyes
To cash that boyhood zeal again
And run until you rise
Or shortening your leash
Bring you in
To closer dazzle my eyes
And let your string between my fingers fall
A ravished and splendid bride
I want to make you feel secure again
Your flying strained against my faith
Buoyed by the comfort of my love
For you the only joy that fills my eye
In the huff and blow of time
I want to lift you like the wind
And with you all my affections fly
To shout in glee from my little hill
Below unlettered clouds in pride
My kite alone to fly.

From behind the crimson curtain,
The skylark sings within her
Gilded cage of musical notes,
To please her dark lord and master.
Beauty's prisoner of the forsaken,
She raises her voice in clarity's
Magnificence,
Beneath crystal chandeliers opulence.
As if a bird taking flight within
Harmonies Symphony.
This youthful diva sheds
Her physical shackles, released
By a spiritual reclamation, of liberty's
Beyond her earthly form.
This mistress of song captures
Liberation’s heights, beyond freedoms
Escape, to soar high above the heavens.
She is set free, released within the music itself.
In the mind of the phantom, he plays
Along with the orchestra of the dammed.
A pianist of great renowned, with loves
Sweet melody, is inspired by jealousy’s
Conquest, she is his, always and forever.
The dead’s musicians, play on, with their
Instruments precisely in tune,
A delicate balancing, is each textures
Movement, it is harmony's perfection,
A Graceful sounding, carried across the
Stage of this twisted tragedy.
On destiny's piano the grand master sits,
With his candelabra lit, from loves eternal
Flame of desire.
It's light softly flickering, by gentle winds
Breeze, calling her name, Christine.
Oh angels of mercy, here the meadow lark
Singing, beneath the cobbled streets,
And sawyers chambered walls.
Love's prince does slay the beast,
As fire shatters the opera house, leaving
Nothing but ashes residue behind.
Yet in echoes voice, he screams by nights
Breath, her name once more, he calls unto her,
The phantom of the opera, Christen.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Melting tears of the moon is snow dust, frozen droplets
Turning into flakes of white icy lace, that cling to the baron
Limbs of the tree tops, for it is winters grace, a frozen
Kiss given unto autumns last sighs of farewell, until
The next seasons change takes place.
Softly floating wisps of thin frozen mists, shifting
Ever lightly, gracefully unto the winds, tenderly
Aloft, free falling paper thin crystals of ice,
Cascading downwards unto the frozen earth below.
Layers of delicate texturing of refineries elegance,
Transforms this landscape of falls color burst, into
A winter wonderland of frost and white icings
Gleaming brilliance.
A kingdom of flickering diamonds is show cased
Beneath the lunar shine, of the light hanging within
The heavens above, a glittering field of gems
Illuminated by the elliptical sphere, Called the moon.
In this picturesque display, the writer ponders
Humbly, to the wonders of nature’s masterful
Hands of creation, to be able to create such
Beauty on
this frozen canvas, and the poet
Is left in awes wake of hushed expression.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

As I lie here, eyes half closed, I wonder
Why does the grass wave to me?
Has the summer breeze asked it to greet me
And if so, what does it wish to say
But I think the Chinese whispers of a thousand blades
Might confuse the message beyond recognition
Perhaps I should ask instead, the shaded underbelly of the lonesome oak,
Standing aloof mid-field
For surely he hears the same story from the breeze
And then again perhaps I have it all wrong, it's a message from the grass,
So many strands waving their message make the pleasant breeze
If that is the case then, I think I must lie here a while longer
And listen to the story they wish to tell

I hold three magic rocks, in my hand. Rolling them over and over and over. Leaving this
reality behind, far behind I stepped into the magic mirror and there I was back in 1959. It
was the same month, November. I looked around and it was the same as I remember it had
been then. Mom looked so young and beautiful and said, "The school bus will be here in a
few minutes." I looked at the calendar and saw that it was November 25th, the day before
Thanksgiving. I said, "But mom, I haven't been in school in forty years." I got this strange
look from her but she didn't say anything. Walking toward the door I caught a reflection of
myself in the hall mirror. I was so young. My hand immediately went to my face and I
stopped and stared at myself for a few minutes. I said, "Mom, can I stay home and be with
you today?" Again I got that strange look from her, then she smiled and said, "Sure, it's
your last day before Thanksgiving anyway, why not?" She and I sit down and talked for
hours. Then I said, "Do you mind if we go next door and visit with Maw Maw and Paw Paw?
I haven't seen them in so long and I've missed them terribly!" Again another strange look
from mom. Next door I saw Maw Maw and Paw Paw as they had been in 1959. I wept and
they all looked at me so strangely. I hugged them and kissed them all and we talked for
hours. Dad finally came home from work and I ran and hugged him so hard. "Dad why did
you have to leave us in June?" Again I got strange looks from everyone. My tears were
falling. I saw Aunt Frances and Uncle Bill who lived beside Maw Maw and Paw Paw. "I've
missed you both for so long." Strange looks again! They didn't understand because to them,
it was just another day in 1959. The day grew late and I knew my time was soon ending. I
got near the magic mirror and mom and dad were standing there so young and healthy. I
said, "Mom I'll see you on the other side of the mirror, but dad, I'll see you another time,
another place." They didn't understand. I stepped back through and my reflection was as it
had been before. Mom was sitting in her chair at age 84. I said, "Mom, do you remember
the day before Thanksgiving, 1959, when I stayed home from school and we spent the day
together?" She said, "Yes, it was so strange that you could never remember anything about
it. It was as though you had amnesia.

Something shining, glinting in the Darkness,
golden points of light stare back at me,
and tell me just where the predator hides,
waiting to spring upon me.
Will the beauty tear me apart?
Or will it leap in play,
purring like a kitten?
The mirror clouds over,
hiding what it sees.
And I know, the danger lies within.

It vibes in harmonics broadband, a musical language universal,
Echoing across the heights divides, falling as a thunderstorms,
Raw force of spiritual power, descending from the heavens above,
The angels do yield, surrendering the gift of music unto the world
Of man.
Pierced by their angelic thorny prongs, tender notes of rhythm,
Melt downwards from the silver lining of graces everlasting meadows
Of inspiration.
Separations clouds expose the here ever afters, sparks of the divinities
Fame burning as a torch lighting up the skies white powder showering
The earth with sweet melodic undertones, a thundering vibrating beat felt
Throughout the pulsating heart of nature itself.
Music lives within all things, it binds a connecting link, a
Symphony a blending element, a melting promise between heaven and
Earth, a harmonious balance, light equaling dark.
In the vaults of the skies, the heavenly chorus joins with
The voices of humanity singing a song of complete
Harmony.
What a true wonder is this gift given unto mankind,
To write and sing, to share such expressionism with
One another, music is honestly a universal language
Understood by every nation, or age group beneath
The heavens themselves.
A heritages legacy passed down from grandfathers,
To fathers, and than to sons, and daughters,
Is this the love and wonder of these arts there in
So shared by all members of the human race for
Generations of inspiration to come.
I listen to the songs sang by the morning doves,
To the charming voices of our youthful young,
Than those jolly fellows from days gone by,
You know the old barber shop quorate.
So many variations and depths of degrees,
Harmony, rock-n-roll, to golden oldies country,
Music is a wonderment all to it's own glory.
So we thank you those powers on high,
For this miracle of a gift called music.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Is it simply just a wooden music box?
Charming the human soul, with its melodic undertone,
What a hypnotic melody it so plays, enticing the listener
With its delicate waltz' sweetly strumming, exposing it's
Mystical quality of the supernatural
By its spiritual essence attractant, I'm thus so memorized,
A ballerina dancing in step, with the spell cast upon me,
Thus do so I spin, on this stationary pedestal, unable to move
On my own volitional power of chose and free will,
I've be consumed utterly,
By the haunting tune, compelling me do its evil bidding.
The notes grow slower, unwinding until perfectly still,
But I'm not in a daydreams nightmare, I suddenly realize
This absurdity is reality, has become real.
I'm that tiny figure within a child's musical box,
Frozen in stances freeze, unable to cry
Out for help, for made of wax am I now.
Then the lid is gently shut upon me, and in the
Darkness a sadistic voice, heckles and mocks
Me, speaking in musical notes it sings a deadly
Lullaby, rest eternal my beauty for you belong
To me now.
I've become a play thing to be tormented,
Languishing within this jewelry box.
Caught in this land of giants, whom wind
These musical chimes, to join me as a
Prisoner's collection, of a thief called music.
Whom orchestrates this symphony of the demonic?
I dare not ask, for the voices anger would
Ravish what little is left of my humanity,
So I smile, and I dance at its pleasures
Whim, but within my soul a flickering
Ray does burn still, and it is called hope.
The music screams in terror's disbelief,
For the giants house has caught in flames,
And now he is the prisoner captured
Within a wooden tinder box.
I do so smile as I myself melt away,
Listening to the voice begging for help,
But no one comes to aid such evil as he.
But I am free at last, and except death
As a comforting friend's reprieve,
From the beast, is it just a simple?
Wooden music box.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

A shades poet, writing in blacks quailed ink,
Expressing emotions by a poetic pallet of diversity,
On a canvas rainbow bursting forth across the
Horizon at dawns first light.
Imaginations dream seeker, walking amongst
The clouds, in heaven's meadows above.
Inspiration's muse, she'll never realize what
A simple comments pleasure, can give to
Lighten up someones day.
I've read eloquence's words placed upon the
Lab top screen before me, and felt tears sorrow,
Exhilaration’s heights of elevation.
Through her words of poetic thoughts placed
Within lines.
Getting to know another person, and so now
Calling her a friend.
We the bards are becoming a rare breed,
Unique each one of us, in our own ways,
But in retrospective similarities sharing the
Same traits and needs.
To write, to express, and use our intense
Imaginations, to take others along with us,
In a journey beyond physical limitations,
Beyond body and mind.
She calls herself Poet Destroyer, but in
Reality's truth, she is not destruction’s poetic
Slayer, but instead an angel of
Compassion helping those whom need guidance.
What is the meaning of life, I've heard this
Asked many times before?
My personal opinion to this question is
To make some kind of difference in this
World.
To touch another's persons life in some way,
Special,
Poet Destroyer you've touched mine,
And this is my way of saying thank you.
Happy Birthday to come my friend.
Always Cheri.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Rarest of beauty is she the ice fawn,
Grazing within the ice meadows in crystal
Fields of frozen cloves, as the star lights
Flicker in brilliance shinning, all about her.
A shy creature of gentleness, made of ice
And snow, unique amongst the polarized canvas,
Alone in perfections glittering diamond dust,
Of winter’s mystical enchantments.
Drinking from the pools of the moon,
Warmed by the twinkling shades of the rays,
Casted in the Aurora Borealis of the northern
Pastures, beyond mankind’s encroachment.
Creations gathering of angel tears shed
In tender moments of truest grace, was
She this miracle thus was so made,
The ice fawn.
Chamber lights living Kalightoscope, a prism of
Dear shine, walking in splendors white ice.
A mystical being of opulence’s elegance, splashed
By the divine plate array, and brushed by the wings
Of the ethereal angelic.
A sparkling gem, a jewel of winter, with the
Soft brown eyes of clarity, behold the ice fawn
In all her glittering glory, walking in freedoms
Sacred Valley of the human imagination.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

If the unbearable lightness of being has pushed you to the brink of catastrophic meltdown,
walk to the edge of our flat two-dimensional existence
and take a leap of faith...
You may drift through space for quite some time
eyeing the stars, the planets, the galaxies
that make up the great and boring universe beyond.
Eventually you'll come across darker, scarier territory,
unseen with the naked eye
yet comprising 95% of all matter,
and all that matters,
otherwise known as the unconscious.
Some day you'll feel safer in the void,
more secure,
at peace.
With not one mirror in sight to reflect your self concept,
everything and nothing make perfect sense here,
for they are one and the same.
You are the only observer
of man's true final frontier
and his one and only mystery.

Quarried, and carved from our earthen mother's skeletal
Backbone and under belly, were the Moai solid rock deities,
Stone guardians of Easter Island.
A mystical place, a harvested paradise, but nothing remains
Of the people whom built this land of living statues, except
For these harden faces, looking towards the ocean, as if in
Wait for their native worshipers to return.
Sit and listen my friend, to the whispering in the wind,
Do you hear the low humming sound, rolling across
The rocky and jagged surf.
It is the Moai, calling unto the five raw elements of the world.
Let us live again, to walk among the heavens vast
Divides, and to feel the winds breeze at our faces
Once more.
Slowly the ground shifts and moves, rumbles and
Quakes, lightening splits as thunder strikes against
The harden ground, nature itself has heard them,
And answers their wishes with life anew.
Shedding layers textures by depths degree, piece by
Piece, stone turns into gravel, rough rock is smoothed,
Hued by mystic incantations spell, brick becomes
Bone, and nature answers their wishes with life anew.
Living giants pull themselves up out of the earth,
Shaking away debris's leavings, and thus shall
Stone breaths, inhaling freedom's fresh air at last.
Behold the living god's of Stone, guardians of
An ancient culture lost unto time itself.
But at dusk's fading sunset, the spell is thus
Broken and slowly these giant figures take
Their places once again, melting as if it
Never happened, yet the humming still
Lingers echoing across the ocean.
For stone God's never forget, and waiting
On Easter Island do they so sit, monuments
To a people whom disappeared without a trace.
But their deities shall call unto them until
One day they'll return, and then maybe
Giants again shall walk this earth in
Celebration, to feast amongst their people
Once more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Lines Life and our Faith in God
Is it possible to divide lines?
Which are of numerous types and kinds,
Like life, which always appear in different,
Forms, colors, shapes and types.
But when all these types and kind of lines disappears,
Covering the sheet of darkness,
What is left is only a tiny dot,
Which has no end and has no beginning.
From a tiny dot only life and every thing began one day,
And in a tiny dot every thing would vanish one day,
Leaving no lines of any kind bold or thin,
On the sands of time,
What would ultimately be left, as the last impression,
Would only be a tiny dot, much smaller than the rolling tears of eyes.
The Universe also started from a dot,
Even all universes and galaxies, stars and planets,
Started from a dot created by God,
And every thing ultimately would vanish,
One day in the darkness of a dot, like black hole,
About which we almost know nothing,
Except that every thing including the earth, planets, stars,
Even our body and mind and its high rising aims and ambitions
Would ultimately get lost in the magnetic darkness of the
Black hole, which is nothing but another form of a dot.
The creative and destructive power of the dot,
Is right before us in the form of a computer,
Which builds, learns and teaches every thing,
Starting and ending from tiny tiny dots,
And places before us humans and nature,
Animals and creatures, in their true forms, except
They do not breathe, love and hate like humans.
But humans are close to create a new dot,
Tomorrow it would breathe and talk,
It would think and walk and may also love and hate
And may be, it would start creating,
New types of humans and may start thinking himself one day,
As our new Creator or a new God.
I pondered, wondered and imagined,
What would happen, when this new God,
Would have a small amount of some power in his hand
And may become a new God for those,
Who do not believe in our faith and in our Almighty God,
As even a small amount of the power of creation and destruction,
May blind the weak humans to start thinking himself as the new God.
In such a situation, all lines of all types may disappear
For ever from us, which has so far,
Saved us from the total disappearance of our existence,
And has brought up like a child in every religion and faith,
So that we may flourish and bloom like his Nature
And may adore Him as,
Our faith or God or as our strong and bold Dot,
Which always loves us a lot.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 13th June 2006

Sunshine Eats Its Armor
Night is an old fish
deep in a dark sea
racing ever upward,
emerging into light
slow to eat more
yet steady as she goes
ever changing its tails,
seeking life anew
anticipating,
a future never known,
breaking against all
speeding into a mist
longed for by many,
desires on every list
Night is a new fish
racing down to flee
sunshine eats its armor
deep, dark it wants to be
Robert J. Lindley
note: A little free verse tonight. Even as I try, poetic rhyme still sneaks in..
like a dog chasing a juicy bone..lol

Does not the pen yield its ink unto the bare page,
For expressionism to spill forward expelling inspirations
Liberal curve, it’s the power of freedom of speech is
It not.
How many have died for what they believe in,
What weight in blood soils, have these brave
Individuals has cost in life’s causes of the justice
And righteous.
These voices sounding can be heard even though
The flesh flame has been extinguished, hope light
Flickers in the darkest corner of silence, and it’s mighty
Winds wave can still be felt amongst the living.
Know one stands alone in a justified cause, if the truth
In the written words is spoken out loud, and is proudly
Bared by the author.
The next generations seeks our kindling fire, to inspire
There small embers to burn more brightly let us encourage
Such raw fuel to ignite, not smother it by smug self righteousness.
Set ablaze the pages of the future generations, let their inspirational
Spark spread, setting the very heavens a fire with enlightenment's torrent.
In this world we are given the gift of speech, thought, and wisdom,
For what other reason but to share the best of ourselves with others,
It is the gleaming light that sizzles in the eyes of the human spirit,
And severs us from the beast of the fields, and it is called Intelligence,
Compassion, and the freedom of speech.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Smooth as ebony silk, black aquatic waves the melting
Essence of liquid evil, stirring this lake placid of our
Eternal nightmares, deadened space in the fathoms
Deep, beneath the dreaming realm for which we sleep.
Translucent tears, left dripping in our unconscious mind,
Trick, trickling, encroaching, drowning us within the
Fear factor, heaving, and tugging at the reality of
Humanities thin realism.
Raw is this blackened well, of emotional plunging,
A pit bottomless, in suctions raw force of power.
Thy soul trying to cling against the porcelain sides,
Yet sliced by the roughed edge of illusions delirium.
Sheer glasses elliptical memorization, hypnotizing
The lucid mind, smacking hands blister at the panes,
Begging for this bad dream to end.
But your voices scream remain nothing except
Echoes refrains, that are lost amongst the complete
Darkness surrounding thee, in this murky abysses
Tidal surge.
Wake up, wake up, this is not real or is it,
The torn spiritualist grasps at faiths buoy, but
Instead sinks farther below the currents swift
Under currents, then light slits through the dark,
As lightening slashes at the blackest night, and
The dreamer shivers beneath his covers warmth.
Laying within his twisted sheets of sweat,
He wonders if any of it was real at all!
But whom can tell what lucks under the black
Waters of our nightmares, dare you to go swimming,
Into the rivers of the unconscious to find out, and survive.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

~
In the dim, dank night, looming high on the hill
Beyond the depth of the swampland, brackish, and still
A secret mansion, boarded, barred, hovers in the dark
Scribbled black with barren trees, ancient and scarred
and riddled deep with fingered limbs, arthritic and gnarled…
Cedar and sandalwood, had graced the stately doors
Regret is all that's left to share, it permeates the core
There is nothing here to bury, but an old desperate story
And stones with tragic names engraved, whisper from the quarry
Weeping sounds, are often bounced like echo's, by the score
From bedroom window gable comes, a moonlit flash of face
Bleached by the light, it comes and goes …then, oddly is erased
The doors are closed, and barred with steel,
but scars remain inside, as midnight tolls, she wanders there
in veil and dress, ....the bride
She walks through the garden, in a lost, foggy, haze
Dark clouds, form behind her, wherever she goes
Heavy with intention, they hover in close
Mist from the swamp land encircles like smoke…
She grips tarnished urn, filled with ash, some kind
They spill in the wind, they seek then to find
A place to join the earth, a place to find a rest
They seek final rest in the place they know best
Where the season of love, has withered to dust…
__________________________________________________________________

Weightless upon a sea of black,
ebony hugs your every curve.
And you sense you are not alone,
for something calls compellingly.
A portal appears in the pitch,
as shafts of light dispel the dark.
And you feel like a Goddess with
an aura of shimmering light.
Color dripping drops of crimson,
leaves a copper taste on your tongue.
And secluded in the shadows,
fear flickers in and out of thought.
Fingers caress body and soul,
not as a master strokes a pet.
But like an intimate lover,
arousing passion through touch.
He hides behind his shield of dreams,
so each night you’re taken back home.
And you awaken unaware,
that alien abductions are real.

Golden are finite grains of sand, running smoothly through
The hour glass of time, tiny precious moments of reflections
Treasured gems, captured in thoughts of the shifting pages,
Of the ever turning calendar months.
Against the frosted goblet of remembrance, lie champagne
Lipstick kisses, impressions left overs of smudges residue
Of love's betrayal.
Celebrations bursting bubbles of memory, turning into frothy foam,
That slides downwards, off the empty bottle of regrets broken vows,
Of the New Year's promises sensed past.
A clicking symphony of tiffany tears, shed upon the satin pillow shams,
Dried are the rose petals of passion, cold embers burn within the
Hearth of the tender heart.
Bold is the youthful yearling, whom stands upon the Oedipus of
Emergence, strong is the inner being, a blossoms flower yielding,
Yearning to sprout, to feel the warmth of the sun's loving grace,
Yet banished beneath the weight of truth's injustice at the end.
But in hopes faith it grows, lighting up the box window pane of reality,
Climbing upwards towards the heaven's enlightenment of
Tomorrow.
Ripple do the waves of the timeless, one more waltz to dance,
Another romance to enhance with their devotional trance, a
Lingering flickering flame moves across the ocean of the broken
Hearted lover, who listens only to the music’s rheum.
Oh in desires high pitch moment of consequence does not
The innocent victim lie slain, at the footsteps of lusts threshold
Of adulthood, evergreen is the tree of the New Year, and
Loneienesses vines, creep along the life lines of the
Devotional heart.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Midst the dark of night,
neath the veil of moonlight,
I'll wait for you,
my eyes never losing sight of your face,
always in touch with your hand.
Somewhere in time is where we’ll begin,
consummating our moment for an eternity.
Until then make love to me with words,
echo them within my heart,
etch them upon my memory.
Our embrace will last forever;
through many flames our love has endured.
We have sewn our seeds beyond the depths of ordinary,
drowning out hate, reaping love’s serenity.
Tonight, I will dream you here,
so close to see the love in your eyes,
to drown inside the pool of your need,
soaring past Luna’s seductive lips,
as she whispers your name to me....
So close.~

Darkness Wraps My Pain
I was born to this flesh
A slayer in pain
No regret, no remorse
Gold and pleasure my gain
I never wanted love
Nor did I want joy
I found death a trip
Where I once was open
Now I hide in darkness
A slayer of souls
Seeker of agony on all
Ageless shadows grace
My tomb within hell's
Ripping dungeons that
Eat the screams of
Torn bodies and cut
Out hearts scattered on
The blood soaked floors
I was born a slayer
A slayer that delights
In agony wrapped in anguish
his, hers , yours
give me a choice I
chose all.....
Robert Lindley
05, 23 1980
note: This is from long ago.
A very dark time in my life.
Must have been wasted because
no ryhme.. lol

I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
A streaming particle of matter flowing in the
Mystical elemental current of my own existence,
Untethered I’ve cut the silvery threads of the
Timeless, a creature of thoughts abandonment.
A unique butterfly of distinction, flying amongst
The light waves of illusion spreading my wings
Of clarity, touching the stars in gentle graces
Movement.
In flights liberation climbing levels of enchantment,
A swaying anomaly tossed, passed between earth
And sky, a castaways silhouette lingering afloat the
Breeze of sensuality, with the heightened senses
Of pleasure ultimate recklessness, I’m at liberties
Jurisdiction beyond the touch of man.
I’ve joined the flocks of the enlightened ones,
Moths drawn to the dreaming flame, that burns
With fuel of inspirational grace.
Rippling wings transcending, behold the marvel
Of lunar beings, evolving, rising beyond the
Embankment of physical resistance,
Translucent fluttering monarchs brushing
Against the gates of God’s kingdom on high.
Flying insects of humanity, buzzing in a whispering
Chorus ushering in lyrical verses praise,
Announcing the arrival of these ascended.
Reaching through the vaulted grates of heaven,
The lord’s angel reaches out to touch these mortal
Wings of inspiration, and harken to listen, as
The Soft music loaf’s upwards, flooding the floors
Of this golden divide.
At twilights intrinsic hour of contemplation these
Dreaming beings of enlightenment drift as floating
Confetti ever lightly descending, cascading into
Their mortal fleshes vessels beneath, leaving the
Realm behind, but oh what visions of inspiration
Have these butterflies of remembrance relate,
In poetic excellence, cannot be captured
Within the nets of mankind.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

A magic forest
Where chipmunks slide down moon beams
And squeal with delight
Oh listen! You'll hear
robins splash their tiny feet
in pools of dewdrops
Like laughing children
Crickets are playing their harps
And dancing with joy
Sweet songs at bedtime
Moss covered carpets, soften
the music for sleep
Hushed now, cadence of
summer evening melody
bewitching the dark
..................................................................................................................................
For Tirzah's "Fantasy" contest

We, who are strangers to this virgin land
Have succumbed to the impossible
Astonished by the solitude
Still numbed by grief for what is gone....
We stand in voiceless fixity and gaze
Upon the blue veined world we've left behind
It seems so weightless in the sky
And out of the chill of marbled sorrow
We weep for all those lost tomorrows
Although eyes might be deceived
From here what's seen would be a lie
Remains yet beautiful to the eyes
We stand wide eyed, upon new shores
And look from here, to the earth so far
How fragile, is our earth still spinning
As we grasp at new beginnings
How precarious a world, untouched, can be
Have we learned, from where we've been?
We must recall,.... recall it all
Look how it spins, against the stars
Oh God, ...so fragile, frail and small
Let me turn my head,
I cannot bear to watch,
I must close my eyes
before it falls....

Why do I love thee?
You! With a heart made of ice
Hiding beneath the face of an angel
Pure and white
Crying those frosty tears
In and effort to convince me
You didn't kill your rival
‘The beautiful vibrant Autumn’
Can I not see – you ask?
Surely it was suicide
Everyone saw her leap to her death
But! I know it was you
For I still see
Your tell-tale frost on her breast
Left When you held her in
A kiss of death
So why! Do I still love thee?
You! With a heart of ice
Is it because I know
You were consumed with jealousy
Wanting to be more beautiful
Than she could ever be
In the hopes of pleasing me?
~~~~~
A thrill – a chill runs up my spine
Autumn quickly fading from my mind
As I look at you
A glistening jewel
That simply takes my breath away
SECOND PLACE: Let it snow contest

Into the mist which settles upon the waters
Tempered elements connect and clash
Each vying for dominance within their domain
Lightning chases Thunder throughout forlorn skies
The harder she cracks her brilliant, whip the further he runs
In pain he roars through pitch black skies
Man stands in awe of the battle displayed
And the heavens hang low and cry pouring rain
~*~
Note: Inspired by "The perfect Storm" Very sad ending, yet, one of my favs.

I crawl on your skin between the sting
and the caress, Oh, Glorious Love,
you have taught me the value of trust.
Not to be given carelessly
but held to my breast
where it may suckle,
A son-less mother.
Trust, you're a whoring lie.
Oh laugh, Moon, laugh!
You will be expelled like a bastard son
being popped out of some street urchin.
The sun has paled, white now, impatient
with it's own, devoid of rays.
Opaque, without bronze or ruby,
as white-washed as high noon on a humid day.
Who do you seek to claim?
I cannot be claimed, owned
or even loved, and have exhausted
my concern over the tricks of fate.
The past lies dead like ashen leaves
becoming mulch on a moldy autumn trail
that has overgrown
and no longer leads anywhere fruitful.
To the dying! To the dying! To the dying of a day!
Yet, I crawl through the layers
of your saggy skin,
between the sting and the caress,
just one moment
before the caress
fades to day.

The Executive Story/ poem
There was once a high class executive Lady.
She had a very high paying job and made a
lot of money. She was very rich and hung
out with the rich and famous.
It happened one day while crossing the street
to her job, she got run over by a bus and died.
When she gets to heaven, St. Peter meets her
at the door and asked who she was.
She said I'm Jane the executive. St. Peter nod
his head and said - very few people of your kind
make it here. He then said you have to choose
where you want to spend the rest of eternity, if
it's Heaven or Hell. She said - I'll take Heaven
she said,
St. Peter said - It's not that easy. You have to spend
24 hrs. in Hell and than 24 in Heaven, than you decide.
He took her down to Hell and the door open He just told
the main man there - she is here for her 24 hrs. I will be
back tomorrow for her.
The very well dressed man told her, do come in. Jane saw
that it was beautiful in there. It was like a beautiful city.
There were lots of stores, restaurants and night clubs. She
was impressed. She went to a club and there she saw some
of her friends that had passed away before her. They were
happy to see her. They had a great party that night.
Before she knew, her time was up. St. Peter came for her. Now
was her time in Heaven. There She saw a lot of Angels singing
and everything was peaceful. The 24 hrs. were up and St. Peter
ask her if she had make up her mind and what had she chosen.
She said I never thought I would say this, but I choose Hell. He
said - are you sure? She said yes.
This time St. Peter send her down by herself. When she knock on
the door, Satan himself opened up took her hand and dragged her
in. What she saw surprised her. All her friends were dressed in shabby
dirty clothes and it was like the whole city had disappeared and there
was fire everywhere. The people were picking something to eat from
the garbage.
She said - what happened here? Why are my friends dressed like that
Last night everything was so beautiful - we had the best of everything.
Satan - said, last night we were recruiting you. Today you are here for
Eternity...

0810/2014
By Lucilla M. Carrillo
Note: I'm sorry that this is
kind of long, but I hope you
enjoy it. Moral of the story is
what you see is not always
what you get...
heaven.

Wheels spinning 'round
part the oil-slicked sea,
splashing damage onto new clothes.
Maniacal skeleton behind the wheel,
drives along, already dead,
killed by a futuristic ballistic check.
Sonic boom of the shot
pulls everything free,
stripping down nature to its barest form-
watching the sunrise behind his eyes,
stars fill up the lonely, hollow halls,
decked in fanciful persian rugs,
soiled by muddy shoes of movers
moving backwards,
emptying out the boxes
before hauling them away.
Messy piles of imprints left behind,
press 'stop,' hit 'rewind' and reverse *click* *click*
esrever dna 'dniwer' tih ',pots' sserp
....>>Play>>....
Wheels still spinning 'round
kick up chocking dust from
the unbeaten path of rugged minds,
blowing damage onto new clothes.
Babe of illusions behind the wheel
trying so hard to grow up really fast,
yet towering above the rest
in the form of a 2000 year-old redwood,
cut down and planked-
formed into boats
following the last and final whale song.
Empty skies are full of memories,
mind whirling faster than the shutterframe
trying to outdo a digital messiah.
Darkroom development,
MPD alchemist mixes chemicals,
transmuting greed into a beaded ring-
in an attempt to marry himself
and defy the laws of union
station is packed with people
pushing and shoving
each other onto the tracks,
staring into the headlights of destiny
roaring in from the underside-
conductor isn't stamping tickets,
but gives them away instead....
....hoping and waiting for someone
to press 'stop,' hit 'rewind' and reverse.
Time to let go and hold on at the same time,
head up high
press >>play.

My parents complain of a mythical pest,
Infesting our house since the 7th of July,
Devouring the snacks, desserts,
delicacies and everything hot, spicy or sweet,
Determined to find the beast,
Fattened with food meant for me.
with a magic wand and on a broom to hunt
set out may it be a lachupakabra or a lepricorn,
Scary or naughty and anything the creature might wield
ready with a device from my dad given to me with a grin
the device, the compass, the guide to the beast
was a mirror reflecting its scaled skin scarlet red
staring at me with cat like blue eye
fierce and mighty.
Not a pest but is a mythical beast
Omega and almighty! It was me
Perplexed, gave up the hunt.
now feasting on poisonously, maliciously, dangerously
in sugary syrup gulab jamuns soaking.

She walks away.
Girlish and glorious
laughter
floats
through air
like a kite on a string
that pulls
tautly slipping through tightened fingers,
burning a little,
and slicing through
if ever left unattended,
so preciously tensioned
against the cold
benumbing
wind.
Tears begin to flow
but I do not know . . .
my heart?
or the wind?
If my heart, then am I sad
to be here on the ground
or joyful
to be watching the kite
fly?
In answer, a quivering.
A wisp.
"She will not fall or float away while I hold her thus.
She will be beautiful for me."
Wondrous.

When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...
I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky
The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn
I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe
The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul
Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through
Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost
I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art
As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow
Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place
The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost
Day was Life,Night is Death
And the latter has given counsel on my final steps

I gasp in his waters, awaiting composure,
and I am found wanting, wanting more
of his ebb and flow that washes away
my brazen a Capella of identity,
that I cling too like a rabbit
clings to her virginal, white fur.
It's autumn, and in the calm before the storm,
when the last rays of a dying sun have set
and a dubious wind picks up, echoing,
"Failure!
Failure!"
Brazenly, I step out of the paleness of my skin
as my heart ventures forth, unprotected and insecure.
His waters fall soft and warm.
I bathe in his falls of light,
warming me, touching, caressing,
I give up this good night.
In the warmth of his firelight crackling,
his voice collective, calming, divine,
he reads me the poem of him,
and I dream...
Oh, how I dream.
Chasing my dreams into sleep
before the cold winds of failure
swoop down on me of She-wolves.
" They will come,
they always come."
And I'll wrestle that rabbit for the purpose of fur.
I sleep with my head on his lap
and as he bows to kiss my blush
the harsh winds slow and falter
while I sleep like reflections on calm water,
and I dream...
Oh, how I dream.

How quickly the earth forgets
all that the sun has said today
As daylight bows out gracefully
dwindling soon to silence
hush now, .....
let's listen to what the night will say
Listen closely ....stars are whispering
It is all about sleeping...
all about flowers folding for repose...
all about bird heads tucked under bird wings:
and dreams that walk silently after eyes close
shhhh....

“Momma… what are those lights up there?”
“Those are salmon fish, glistening in the sky…”
…
She begs to understand your fears, your passions, your pursuits
She is down on her knees, and you above
Feeling the tears drip from the heavenly precipice…
She wants to catch them in her eye
And truly… see
And she does see….far off…beyond the shade,
Beyond every single worry river…
Two pairs of eyes across the way
Glistening with perception, set upon a face so serene…
A warrior stance of their own, the eyes gaze…
She is both torn and joyous to meet them,
And had she dared to look away, the cares would flee
And thoughts would spew faster than the rapids…
Where the salmon skid upon the rock…
Only to be grabbed and mauled by the world
Those eyes reveal a face…a mind so sharp, yet loving
Unraveling a heart that could bear the strongest boulders
Hurling them higher than the moon…
Watch!
Little glistening salmon fish floating in space
Her giggles would make you smile,
The lights in her eyes would melt you and shape you
Her and your heart you would both hold so close
In almost an innocent embrace
Then, suddenly, in that moment, a newness would emerge
Something deeper than anyone has ever imagined to feel
Not two—but one would understand
For one you would become
Yet… there are so many questions she longs to ask you
So many…yet does she carry those answers?
Are they written upon the skies?
In the trees…or the bustling breeze?
In the small recesses of a child’s imagination?
….
“Why do the salmon float in space, Mamma?”
Her hand squeezes the child’s palm affectionately…
“Because his love for her was so great…that he lifted the greatest, strongest boulders from the creeks…the salmon would skid upon the rocks only to be met by the great paws of the bears…but before they were caught and devoured by the hungry creatures of this world, the Great Warrior with eyes of justice hurled all of them toward the moon just to see her smile… the stars you see…are the fish that are free!”

In the dusty cobwebs of my inspirational mind,
I’ve written volumes of scripted details, pondered
Epic thoughts, and let mine imagination roam the
Fields of complete abandonment.
A wild child of freedom’s reckless spirit, I’m dived
Head first into the untamed wilderness of the human
Stratosphere, seeking beyond the unknown country
Of the mental unconscious mind, then free fallen into
The waves of insecurity, rescued by mine own self
Sustaining life preserver, called survival.
Line by line I’ve written into my life journal, leaving a
Legacy behind me worth preservation’s finest gilding,
Bound are these pages of mine existence with love,
Tenderness, and freshly cut rose petals, of remembrance.
Reflected in the cover of my life book, are the joyous
Faces of those whom loved me beyond words of
Expressions comprehension, without emotions tears
For they celebrate my life, not with sorrows regrets
But with prides respect and honor.
Through hell’s fire I’ve rambled and traveled, being
Tested by friend and foe alike, but I’ve lifted myself
Beyond the flames of reality, bathing within the warmth
Of a divine faith of loves power everlasting.
I’ve been given the spark of the eternal, it breathes
Within me, it drives my spiritual being, to over come
Ignorance, intolerance and ambience sloth of spirit.
At times I’ve been tempted to dance, against the flame
That flickers in the night, teasing me, taunting me,
To choose wrong or right, but mine feet stood stead
Fast, yielding only in my secret world of dreams escape.
Yes I’ve mused amongst the fantasy realm,
Flying, soaring into the abyss of illusions mirrors,
Clashing as a bird smacking at the glass of reality,
But I’ve awakened wiser, a soldier better prepared
For the battle known as life.
In this journal I bequeath all that is the best of myself,
To those for whom I’ve touched, and in memories moments
Of stilled realization that I’ve gone, dare let no tears blind
Thine vision let no words of sorrow spill from your trembling
Lips just do me the one last favor for which I ask of thee,
Simply look upwards, and smile.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Where do her dreams take her,
beauty with hair of gold?
Does she dance among the stars tonight
or dwell in a fantasy of passion?
Will she open her eyes if I call to her
or linger in a celestial plane?
I stroke long hair cascading down her ebony gown,
but she does not flinch.
Even as I lay my hands upon hers,
this beauty’s eyes do not flutter.
Indeed, she rests in peace,
not even breathing it seems.
Please tell me, gilded lady,
Is this an eternal repose?
*Written May 14, 2014

Adrift in this vast,
empty sea. Silent,
save for the beckoning call
of distant gulls,
your only friend. And
the makeshift mast and sail is
uselessly flaccid.
And beneath,
concealed
by the dangling sway,
of muddy-
moss-green ribbons of waving kelp,
is the dark murk
of unknown depths.
Then the wind
panics,
arousing your sail and
it swells into life
and draws you towards home.

The Ink Bottle sits, alone,
It’s only Companions,
The Feathered Pen,
The Paper Pad.
The Desk, once alive,
The Words,
No longer,
Written.
Love, abandon,
But wanting not,
The Freedom,
It has.
A Wooden Chair, dusty,
Reclines not,
For the Comfort,
Once given.
Time, a mystery gone,
With passing,
Never to be recovered,
Longing.
Days of gloom, waiting,
Shine not, The Light,
The Heart,
Once brightened.
Come back, to Me,
My words, of Joy,
Of Laughter,
Wisdom, once known.

She sits thinking,
How wonderful it would be,
To have her love, her destiny.
What unfolds in her life,
makes it all worthwhile.
To be with that man, that extra mile.
Her tree has it’s birds, butterflies too,
That visit each day, making things new.
Her garden does grow,
Bringing beauty all around,
Flowers in a row,
Some so profound.
She gazes at her walkway,
That leads to her door,
And imagines him there, just as before.
Such a good time they had,
In this beautiful land,
Always good, never bad,
As they would walk, hand in hand.
Now he has gone back,
To the land of his birth,
But their love did not lack,
It gave life such worth.
A candle in the window,
Her desires all around,
The light does glow,
For the love she has found.

My clone, all day it follows me.
The person that I want to be.
It always says that it is me
But never really is.
My clone, it knows another way
to see the world I’m in today.
But it is different in one way,
it has nothing within.
My clone, it wants to find out now
who is the better one somehow.
It acts and talks just like me now
but still is just a version.
My clone is gone forever now.
no more life left inside now
because I fought it and just now
I slowly watched it die.

You can see me when I fly
And my wings across the sky
My body is large and my neck is long
I will never sing a gentle song
My breath brings fire from deep inside
It's the reason many families have died
Don't come looking for a fight
Because I will scratch and bite
I will pound the ground and rattle your head
I will rip your flesh and your blood will spread
I will pick your bones clean
I am a dragon like you've never seen
So if you don't want to be ate by me
You better just turn away and flee

Before the rain came,
I did not understand the words.
They were simply beauty to me
in a foreign language
in a tempo perfect
that fit my mood.
Rich and pretty ... and
a bit oblique.
But the seed fell deeply
when I looked away.
Sweet siren music I heard in ocean
covered streams ... and
salt water flowers.
I knew angels in waking sleep
and watched my mind
tell me lies.
I turned up the silence and grew still.
Clarity sparkled in smog and mud puddles
and then I understood. the words.
and the rain.
stinging cold ... and
purifying.
x

Frozen enchantress
Of beauty untold
Sought for
The glacial summer.
Soul withdrawn
By painful slumber.
Eyes of silence,
Cold lips of fury.
Auspice of death
Cast
The twisted tongue
Of water.
The vile plunging
Of raging sleep
Left dreams
Of sweet revenge.
So ends
The immortal with life
As it closed its eyes
For eternity.

I long worshiped heartbreak,
From afar, often, though through the lenses, ceaselessly…
I drew ribbons in the midnight sky with the silken trinkets of sorrow
Riding in the dark with the sound of our silent sufferers all around…
At times, I would weep at the hum of their distress
High above, I would cry out loud, like all the rest…
That classic, misery magnet caught in my own spider web
My appendages long worn in life’s tethered mess…
When unexpectedly, the handsome stars hushed,
And this twister that I have become encountered a multihued masterpiece…
I caught your crushing colors in my winds of garish web
You blended with me cheerfully, enjoying the crucifying climb…
Because that is what you do
You live to inspire me
You live to hush the stars
Often, I sneered at the notion of love
I would trap the distant idea in my furious swirl…
The fires that caught my base would climb so very high,
And I would spit them free into the merciful skies…
And then I would hear the voices again, louder and louder
They had cried so long that they began to cackle in denial…in madness…
In wretched whir, in false allure, I would shamefully laugh along
Born in the trap where I thought I belong
Though, you taught me in venerating verse I was wrong
Your colors reflected places in my heart I never knew before...
My snares became havens for the lost and scorned
Entwining masterfully, you showed me how true love was born...
Because that is who you are
You saved me in my hateful hour
You live to hush the stars
How could I have been so lost?
Why did I ever lose myself in their sobbing?
I love you, my source of light,
My source of rain after long-parched night...
Has my heart reached the top of my own destruction?
Do you see it in your revealing rays?
Delighted be, your eyes lifted and met mine as you say,
“You were meant to hush the stars
You were meant to touch my heart
You are everything to me...
And now, we are blended, reaching for eternity
Just as we ought to be…”
I, the tornado of tremor,
You the rainbow of radiance,
Together blended with the trusting touch of earth, air, wind and fire
Through the zooming lenses, in the great mirrors all around
I proudly see myself now with your life within me
And how beautiful and extraordinary we are together
As we aptly ought to be

Canvas, calm, grinning. . .blank
Had words screamed, scarecrows trapped on the poles of their creators,
Had words formed psalms that barricaded the strongholds of the heart,
Divine despair would desperately take hold again,
Embellishing the muse
To smile, the impassive smile. . .confuse
Enraptured by your tail,
Coiling, boiling in the hot and hungry sun
The eyes, clouded, caught in a moment of inexorable suffering
Death glistening in the confirmation of tears and groans,
Shading the dialogue that never surfaces
Justice in pale focus. . .constant, still held in out-of-the-blue faith
Please,
Do not allow your perspectives to dull
Waiting so long, I deafened the cries
The very cries I so blindly expressed. . .
Words etching existences imagined
I want you to take the hand of uncertainty
For as I have, I forever feel the tremors that have given me shape
Those very hands create what you dream,
And not what you fear
Take that hand,
Squeeze it tightly
I promise you, once you touch. . .I will never let you go
For I love you,
Oh, unexplained hold. . .
Help me escape the newborn deaths of today
Teach me how to step over the carcasses of calamity
Where the innocent die to inspire the remaining
Learn how to lead me into the lights of your eyes
Please,
Give me your beautiful hand,
I will take you to places you will never understand
And it will be okay
Because where I go,
The scarecrows roam with the roaring ravens
Making music with the pulse of their wings
With the sharp click of their beaks
Where I go,
Psalms of serenity's back way make love with impending day,
Spinning despair into the golden hairs of suspended May
Where I go,
innocent flowers freely giggle arrays of life
And his tail whips mightily,
His black velvet purrs arousing breaths of caramel verisimilitude
Where we stay,
In the forever grip of the trust you and I made,
Justice is pure water,
Cool and refreshing. . .ever smiling
Please,
My love, please
Hold onto this world with me
Give me your needs that I need. . .
And I promise perspective will prosper
The canvas, one blank, filled with detailed destiny of Color Surety
October 19th, 2014

Within the first moment of loving him, the stars
Fell silent in a soft whispers hush, mine beloved,
Sent from the spiritual gardens above, was this
Precious rose, whom pierced my heart with cupids
Thorny prong’s of devotion.
A melting comet descends, shattering my frozen
Crystalized soul within, for loving him I thus live
Again, and am renewed showed by his sacred
Petals of tenderness.
Passion’s fire in the blue skies of his eyes I’m
So lost, drowning heart first within seductions
Universe, divinities cascading shards of pleasure
Clasp as shooting stars singing our silken sheets
Of forever.
Silvered pieces of stardust dart above us,
As we promise our vows beneath the vast
Canvas of heaven, for in loving him two separate
Half’s have become whole, I’ve found the eying to
My yang, forming perfections circle of enlightenment.
Interconnecting vines woven around my emotions,
Blossom with blooms of his budding devotion,
In loving him I’ve found roots nourishment,
Growing stronger by his shinning smile,
And sunshine’s rays of everlasting kisses.
Oh do not the lords of the galactic universe,
Dancing within the fields of the twilight hour,
In tune with our wedding march, in timeless
Reflections do the pools of the moon,
Ripple with the hushed silence, as two
Lovers walk beneath them in reverences
After glow.
For in loving him, I’ve found my hero of
Companionship, devotion, and soul mate.
He is the lucky star that guides the rhythms
Pathway forward and where he goes I
Shall follow always.
Within the first moment of loving him, the stars
Fell silent in a soft whispers hush, mine beloved,
Sent from the spiritual gardens above, was this
Precious rose, whom pierced my heart with cupids
Thorny prong’s of devotion.

Times of old dwindle throughout captured in leaves of parchment sewed individually into bounded Moroccan, Spanish, and Russian Leathers, seeping the smells of old centuries wisdom enclosed.
Taking the mind into the beyond where great stories are forged and fantasies made.
Smells of musk, vanilla, and tobacco fill the air with the sweet hymms of melodies playing from a far.
Dripping wax from candles burnt fall upon parchment, and the taste of whiskey near the crackling of the fire leave one's mind lost between worlds.
The setting of the sun glides down in an array of colors throughout the land, sweeping all that is, all that is known, and all that was, as the crinkle of every page turns.

the night
promised
more than dreams
my eyes
closed
seeing stars
as they are
wildly thrown
perfection
knowing
i would be
here
this table
destined
the sky is
fine indigo soup
steaming overhead
and
god is
the server.

His hat pulled over the baby blues
A squint a stare as
he slowly headed down a street that had never known
violence with a pistol on either hip
drawing the attention of each passerby but never meeting their gaze
as he trod with a purpose toward a destination that had his arrival timed for
high noon
while his heart beat fast as he saw the hands of the town clock
reaching for the sky sending the message
that it might be too late when a voice stopped him in his tracks
saying
Tommy, where have you been. It's time for lunch.

I’m losing my mind in a hurry!
Maybe, maybe, losing the mind is letting it find itself
or maybe, i'm just crazy
I keep running with anticipation, with heart open and judgment closed
[I discover most superbly this way]
Foolishly Dropping it, hoping that it’ll pick up something useful
On sidewalks, books, table-top salty discussions,
Sometimes in filth letting it pervade the crevices
And when I tidy it, sometimes
It doesn’t all come out, but I try my best
Ever so often, after a new dish soap and scrubbing gloves
it comes out cleaner then it ever was,
With spicy remains of the crude yet true substances
Chunks fall out where the glue of stability erodes
I know that I am fond of it this way
So I can put them back together
With my own fingers
Organized C H A O S
Instead of the media’s, my peers, my parents, piloting
The pivotal pieces
I let them descend tenderly into location
In my own decimal code
I constitute the regulations here
This belongs to me, my only
Safe place
It doesn’t matter to me if life doesn’t flow
If it’s jagged or slow, here
I don’t care
If insanity is the real sanity
Or that distinctive is incorrect
This is my society and I shape it as I please
Seeing as it only affects me
As long as my mind is
In flurries of expansion
I don’t really care if it’s lost at all

deal with it
i will not let my emotions
be monitored
this is me
if you do not like the
fire
stay away
i am me
so why not enjoy
if it were left up to me
society would be ignored
i would fly to you in my
widows' weeds with hand-
fulls of forget me nots
i would wear a purple veil
to obscure the depth of
my sorrow
or not
i would hook you
in the eyes and say
hi. why me flatly
with nuance
i would move myself
into your space
and waste us both
without dignity
i would use your arms
around me to grieve
if , only if, it were
left up to me

Cockle shell candles and firefly lights
padding the path to the woods
Grass crunched and scattered in weeds and in patterns
of the way every garden should look
Cobblestone herb baths and sleepy old stars
shooting the breeze in the dark
Waiting for someone to wish and discover
the cobblestone path in their heart
Night time is patient and fragile and ancient
with secrets just bursting to share
Turn up the jasmine and glow in the shadows
with eyes open wide to the moon
Luxuries lunar light swinging old stars
parading their final hurrah
Flittering fireflies brush up on moves as they
follow the trails of the heart
Pumpkin shaped lanterns delight the warm eye
orange and gold muted voice
Hanging from tree limbs bent down to oblige
and also to be understood
Fly on with sonar and pipe cleaner wings
soaring above all the lights
Lit up like secrets, hovering, weaving
simplicity's gifts of the night...

IN THE WILD AMERICA
Release the eagles of freedom, set them soar
Once more on the extended wings of liberty,
Inhaling the fresh mountain air of America,
In the wild wilderness.
Hear the cry of the wolf, echoing within the
Hidden canyons of the forest kingdoms,
Born free, running free, a sacred representation
Of the untamed spirit.
Crystal clear streams flowing, from the rocky
Tops alpine divides, feeding the thirsts of nature
With eloping breasts of glacier moisture, in purity’s
Wealth behold the glory, in this the wild America.
In the evergreen valleys of the lush pine wood
Forests, the thickets trees stretch wide their
Broadened limbs, towards the heavens above.
Graced by the vision of the sparrow hawks cry,
Mountain men still roam, and exist on the fringes
Of these harsh elemental conditions of beauty.
Brave men seeking freedom’s song of deliverance,
From the city’s busy streets, and concrete jungle,
These wonder lustful spirits, pioneers frontiersmen,
Holding their head up high with prides honor,
With every ax blow and daily survival achieved.
Tribal souls walk their ancient paths, reviling
In territories of liberation, listen to the voices
Of their heritages culture being reborn within
The black hills of thought and wonder.
In spring’s thawing breath does not the
Grizzly emerge from his den of hibernation,
Standing tall against the shadows of the
Open sky, the king ascending his throne
This the mighty giant, in his kingdom
Release the eagles of freedom, set them soar
Once more on the extended wings of liberty,
Inhaling the fresh mountain air of America,
In the wild wilderness.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Gripped by
a tiger through
most of our lives
As we try to see past the known
and delve into
the core
Laughter, tears
and one thousand unanswered questions
pass by as
our fate unravels
Let's not miss
the dance by looking
at the dancers too
closely
Eyes that see
the sun and moon
Will close all
too soon
If you wish
to gain perspective
Try dreaming

MALE DOMINATION
-----------------------------
Candlelight rides hard against the skin
The warmth of the fire eating with excitement
A slight touch of desire, running down my spine
Wax drips, leaving behind intense passion
I move my whip, circling your biceps
I'll take you into a world you've never known
My body and breath ......so...... hot
Come dance with me, under the sheets
I will please you, examine everything you got
Whisper them words in your ear, beg for more
Purr for me, my slave,
I am your sex kitten, vixen,
I'll take you by surprise
---
Caress every flow of my womanly direction
I tickle your spots, feeding your sexual ego
Fondling the intimacy of your frustration
Stroll my heart with your sauce appetite-
I am your sex Goddess Delight.
Spread my flesh, so perfectly,
--look, admire, I give you permission to kiss
-- Kisses starting from the top part of my thigh.
Inject a solo French Kiss, releasing more impure wetness.
Slipping, in wet
--
An artist painting the way of my moans
Polish with light marks on my necks
With your brush of one touch
I have you at my feet-
Tame by the dominatrix at night
by; P.D.

Sweetness
Suddenly the sweetness around the moon!
Set an open fire with magic into my heart.
A campfire burning deep within.
Found a way to kick start my heart again.
Flowing with flowers in the midnight skies.
Feelings of butterflies passing right before my eyes.
A basket of ribbons turning my stomach into knots.
Gave me pleasure to know life's hidden thoughts...
A sweet spell to your compel....
Fell in to my laps like the secret of forbidden lust......
Dreaming that captivate the energy of me and you....
lost inside the demons,, no one can trust.....
Suddenly my heart turned into rust!
Now I sink like yesterdays fallen star.
Singing words that sadden my soul to the floor.
Lost into the darkness, hiding in the corner of my room.
Denying the faces of reality.
Forgetting about the pleasure of my own sensuality.
A desire to reject my own dignity.
Stuck with the affliction that life has no meaning.
A sour taste to the rotten words I curse....
I fell into the wishing well of an evil spell....
Dreams that put my heart to sleep with out thirst....
Found the angles, that released my curse....
BY;p.d.

The Perfect Story
Ingredients.... My Epic Melody!
I spread my wings,
To carry you into that perfect ride.
Allowing you to communicate with my mind.
I'll show you what my perfect story would have in it.
With the world's enigma not everyone can find.
Words twisted with reality and beauty divine
The majestic ways to live with fairy tales combined.
Show no weakness towards the mercy of my gift.
Unleash the lightning, leaving all competition behind.
Pierce every word with my gleaming eyes.
You'll find yourself in the ebony of the blind.
A space passing every constellation with no regrets of return.
Assault the moment of the mind with the perfect line..
Expect pain, love, death, and desires that burn.
A trap for the follower to sink in.
Losing yourself to the evil garden underneath the green fern.
Falling in love with the mental link of my imagination.
Rising from the ashes that killed every demon in my nations.
Rescued by the light of he who rode the wind of fate.
Breaking an oath to give every perfect story a-
"HAPPY ENDING!"
~SKAT~

A river in an African deep jungle,
They saw you and me as foreigners
when we decided to throw our selves
beneath the waters with our clothes on.
We let our waves of thoughts
get us wet,
and spoke the truth to each other
without words.
We smiled and shed some tears,
we held each other,
and never touched the ground.
We dived into the warmth,
and touched transparency….
They always lived here
and never noticed
that dreams are found
within their reach.
The rives runs,
Its warmth is infinite,
and yet for them
its cold and still.
We had a dream,
and they had none.
Our dream is true
and who should know
if they would see,
our dream as theirs,
or just one day
create their own,
and see the way
their river flows…

We come to you soft.
Swaying back and forth.
You hear music,
as my body dances toward you.
You seek trust,
from these darkened eyes,
as they stare right through you.
They add all the mystery,
a man is in search of.
A flick of the tounge,
like we are tasting you from afar.
We posses the forbidden fruit,
your body so badly hungers for.
With skin so smooth.
You begin to run your hand
down our backs, and around our waste side.
Now you have fallen to the temptation.
It is time to taste the fruit you so long for.
begining to rub across your fingers,
You become relaxed.
Working our way to the neck.
For this is the place which pleasure starts.
Wrapping our bodies around you,
we squeeze the life from you.

Far away from this bonded crowd,
Far away from these layers of
shroud,
Oh wings of the air glide me away,
To the world, world above the
clouds.
To the giant mountains of mist,
Where sparkling houses of rain
will
be built,
World beneath where would be
moving,
And sun rays where will be cold
and soothing.
Where I won’t be bound by laws,
And I could speak freely about
the
things I love aloud,
Yeah to the world with cloud
above the clouds,
Where everything just everything
will be allowed.
Sliding on morning dews that stays
till night,
Diving in the night’s sky that looks
like morning light,
With no paths to follow,
I’ll glide free and fast,
Yawing, pitching, bouncing,
shouting,
Like the endless penumbra it’s
unknown where I’ll last
Yeah endless it is,
And it’s unknown where I’ll last
For Above the CloudsContest
I think I am late :-( posting this
anyways

The mirror reflects, obliquely,
a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters
the specks of black my beard is made of
on the breeze. A daffodil hangs down its treasure
and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs,
shielding from the wind and rain its yellow
across my face. The nose protrudes, ridiculous
excrescence. A leaf half green sweeps up in circles
in the whiteness all around. A weak chin, think I,
of windy sighs. Squirrels crack acorns, crunching,
down into a patchy neck. Very unsatisfactory
remembering winter's almost famine. The trees --
appearance. Altogether so. Oh well.
Quiet. Steady. Sturdy. Oh well.
The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.

My Son Moon and Star ~
Approaching the celebration of his Birth
cherishing the gift I received
within weeks of conception I knew
something amazing was in Creation ~
the Stars held a party
sending me with one of their own
Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky
It was magic It was destiny taking its flight.
In love with an October full moon
drawing and painting I liked
thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
caught in a loss of time
Hours going by as choosing my color
a wittness to three falling stars
A clear night sky sparkle's
A once Famous Star was sent
inspiring the tiny child inside ~
Never a doubt in my mind at all
child bearing was worth any pain received
yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
one to cherish and hold
My Son was born the following August ~
working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year
as the set of Leverage for 3 years .
Has done a Indie movie here
In Paris it was seen and honored
coming soon filmed in Portland ~
"The House of Last Things "
awaiting the credits , you will see
1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant
My Young Lion Mans dream ~
A proud mom I watch every show and the credits
as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
My Son & Moon and Star
A name you will all know ~
Happy Birthday to my creative Son
you will exist in my heart forever~
and thereafter
Mom

As the long, frigid winter comes to an end
She pictures a dress like none other- quite a vision!
A sundress in her favorite color of sky blue
Made of softest blue chiffon with mixed patterns
Held in place by strap-like sleeves, and finest pearls
And a fitting lower back cut, made to hug
She smiles as in her mind she conceives
They would have a quiet dinner at the sea shore
Followed by casual dancing beneath the stars
In the quaint, quiet gazebo hand made with white lattice
Lit by whimsical lanterns swaying in the southern winds
Which soften the mood to match the haunting sounds of the obo
As the night grows deeper, wrapped warm in loving arms
They’d stroll along the beach, two hearts finally at peace
He would laugh as a soft, gentle wind billows her skirt
Lightly brushing bare back as he steals a sweet kiss
And lost to the world they'd be, amidst soft pounding of ocean surf
Then spend the night in the dunes up on the hills to await
The fiery glow of sun rise; welcoming a new and glorious day!
~*~

NOTE: I have placed this Poem as a Video Poem also on
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/profile.php?id=100001219732381
[ This Poem is dedicated to Freedom of Expression
and Tibetan Dharma Guru Shri Dalai Lama to support
his struggle for the cause of Freedom of Expression ]
Take me away but I promise to sing a Song
Take me away from such a place,
Where feelings and emotions,
cannot be freely expressed.
Where new thoughts and ideas are crushed,
By the rod of power and corrupts.
Where mind do not get the opportunity to reveal,
its vast sea of beauty and varying colors.
Where love never flies freely in the sky,
while touching the unexplored lofty heights, and
wings of Poetry are nipped in the buds,
before they bloom and spread their smiles.
Where wind do not flow,
while touching the flowers and buds,
Where the butterflies do not have the freedom,
to show their varying moods and colors.
Where faiths have lost their grandeurs and glow, and
shrines are converted into suffocating barracks.
Where love has lost its magic of moving a heart,
to sing a song and dance on the call of its soul,
Where a vast sea of humans live,
without the freedom of expression.
Take me away from such a land and place,
Where people live in chains under iron curtains.
I promise I will come back to this land one day,
when the breeze will flow freely touching every heart,
When its people will have the freedom to fly on their wings,
I promise I will come back, to such a place one day,
When animals too would move without fear in their hearts, and
birds would be free to fly anywhere in the sky.
When the morning dew would greet the new rising Sun,
By glittering without fear, its silver and golden beams,
When flowers and buds would freely spread,
their alluring wings and fragrance in the air.
When the human mind would be free to explore and express,
its ideas and colors on the canvas of paper.
I promise I will come to such a land one day,
to Sing the song of joy and mirth.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 27th Aug. 2011

Inspired by a Art gallery and a poem by Shelly.
A room full of mottled multicolored butterflies
captured within a creative space
of artful design
to inspire and aspire
Flirt and flutter a delicate ballet
among the pot plants
A splash of color
an oasis
among a drab row of urban gray
The door is opened
and the butterflies are released to freedom
flying high above
lush green trees
in clear unblemished skies
floating like autumn fallen leaves
in a gentle breeze
painted Ladies
that rested on my heart for a while
and made it smile
bringing pleasure to my eye
A symbol of freedom and eternity
filling my dreams
with all the treasures of summer.
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Sept.

What can I say
I don't receive it everyday
Though I never check it
But once a year
So how would I know
If It was really there
Just like on face book as well
I never check my messages
Which irks my daughter to no end
Though I truly must confess
This is also the way of my house
As I watch the messages scroll
And I wonder should I answer it
By the time I figure out if I should
That number is surely gone from sight
It is no big thing to me though
My older sister used to go crazy
She would say how am I suppose
To get a hold of you in an emergence
I'd say because I hear the message
I most always keep the ringer off
Then I had the see through phone
So I just watched the lights go off
Maybe I will check my soup-mail
more often then not
I wrote this last night because I checked my soup-mail and seen there was 5 messages ;}
9/ 24- 25/ 12;30am 2012

I want to dream
Like flying across the sky
Finding out greater heights
Seeing others view of reality
And be one with the sky.
I want to dream
Swimming underneath the ocean
Searching water creatures
Fishes, clamps, and corals
Discern what their importance’s are
In our existence and health.
I want to dream
Walking underneath the ground
Exploring things that make us
Wealthy and abundant
Seeing the sources of gold, diamond
And any mineral alike.
I want to dream all my life
To enjoy everything
With my dream Self
As I always know
It’s another form of my reality.

Bloody rude drunken pen has enjoyed a nib of ink or two, reminiscing on a few
Bad and ugly times, we both admit at times things were, a bit of a mess,
All kinds of intertwined, confused but along the way making some progress
On the grand masterpiece of all masterpieces – writing bliss
At first polite, we take in turns, to interject with collaborative words,
Until the air hits us hard, take a breath, where’s your etiquette, manners and respect,
My turn pen, I command, continue on to write, scribbling like an erratic bird’s nest.
Pen resists and spits its ink, a dirty blob from its nib…how rude
All smudged and slurred is a dribbling rambling of everything crude
Across the page leaking its ink, clearly from excessive drink
Dancing on thin ice, my drunken pen decides to try and entice
Inviting me to envelope, his muscular body with smooth fingers
Such fraternisation you drunken sleaze, how do you expect to please
The love of your life, giving you permission to write and express your ink with ease
Drunken pen is at a loss as reflects on his drunken state, its very late
Blubbering relaxed words across the page, deep within and obscure
Then I realise that my drunken pen is sometimes a little insecure
He has a way of making me melt when I think of his 50 shades of blue
Each drink of ink that fills his nib, that prints our words, that stains my skin
Is in every way the partnership of creative bliss and my perfect hue
2nd October 2012
Written for Drunken Pen - Part 2 Contest

I am like
Cleopatra
embraced by serpents many
fear
always trying something new
and dramatic with my
hair
I am like
Eva Patrón
growing up with a painful family
getting lost in movies
thinking of my own
hypnotizing when I speak
First lady of Argentina
meeting you, after death
would be a treat
a nervous habit, of nibbling
on my jewelry
the similarities, between us
gave me a sense of foolery
I am like
Wilma Mankiller
Chief of the Cherokee Tribe
for ten years
fighting against Native stereotypes
despite such distress
enemies did stress
promoting to ‘be of good mind’
you were a leader, of your time
an advocator for women
that they may grow up
and become chief
as a child, you wondered
the forests, like me
not the streets
I am like
Aung San Suu Kyi
wearing three types of
flowers in your hair
feeling at times like a
‘splinter of glass, sharp, glinting
power to defend itself against hands
that try to crush’
winner of a Nobel Peace Prize,
for courage, was
a must
I am like
Catherine The Great
a love to laugh,
coffee, and feeling compelled
to always fill abandoned blank
sheets of paper
you were a Royal Russian Empress,with
not one red drop of Russian blood
and her people, were blessed
to have her
I am like
the Queen of England
longest royal lifetime in history
strong built, from a miserable childhood
toughened her
this is no mystery
preferring candle light
to electricity
handwriting over typewriter
and poetry
I am like
Indira Gandhi
dreaming to live as she did
riding elephants and having
tiger cubs as companions
your own Sikh security
killed you, the story
a sad one
secret dreams of being a writer
angered, by the imbalance of
power
between men and women
listening to beat poets
like Ginsberg
as a great Prime Minister of India
you were heard
and understood
I am like
Rigoberta Menchú
drew the worlds attention to
native Indians rights,
because of you
your goal, to be
a drop of water on a rock
dripping in the same spot,
eventually in the world, you
may leave a mark
wearing many colors
‘because it gives you life’
insisting men and women be equals
you fought this fight
to relax, as I do
writing poetry into
the night
I am like
Joan of Arc
French Military Heroine
burned at the stake at just
age nineteen
known for keeping your cool
even on the battlefield
being a courageous and inspirational
rare jewel
Legendary Lady Leaders
I salute you

I thought of things each day
As if they were stream of events
Through my mind away
More scenes I kept
Within my soul blemished
Haunted and reminiscent
Each action that pricked
My inner being in the wilderness
Of its fruition bestowed
For those who deserved
To savor the sumptuous breed
Of nature who spoke
Within the collective cells
That circumscribed
The essence of my existence
I created everything
That pleased and hurt me at once
But it was just fragment
Of essential things
Needed to propel my desires
To become who I am
And be one with everything.

Trust Life
Don't let life pass you by,
Waiting for a better day, a better chance.
Live now!
Believe in the Good in people,
Trust Life.
Never walk in anyone's shadow,
Let the light guide you,
Feel the spirit of the universe
In the golden power of the sunlight,
As it gently caresses you face.
Open your eyes to the beauty around you,
Take your strengh from nature,
It is there for the taking.
It will fill you with power
To share with the ones that need it.
Look for the beauty you posess inside,
This is the Life you waited for.
Trust Life- and you could not wish
for more!

The Clanking Chain of Wild Geese
I was watching the September sky every day,
With a hope to once again get a glance,
Of the clanking chains of those lovely wild geese,
That suddenly appears with their music melodies,
But quietly they disappear every year,
Like a Rainbow that comes and gets lost gradually.
No one knows when like a rainbow,
The wild geese would appear suddenly,
While changing their forms like clouds in the sky,
Mesmerizing our eyes for few seconds or more, and then,
Disappearing in the sky, like the dim vanishing evening.
The wild geese often appear in the sky,
Forming a shape like the garland of God,
And quickly changing shapes, like our emotions,
While moving in the sky like an arrow,
They sing the joyous songs of today, not tomorrow.
Forgetting the past and the future like an arrow,
Which keeps running, until it reaches its marrow,
The destination to pierce a heart,
They create either a joy or sorrow,
While singing a song of today, not tomorrow.
Oh, September sky I watch,wonder with ,
And hope to see them once again,
My childhood friends wild Geese,
Coming from north and vanishing in south,
Like my thoughts which arise and fall.
But this year, I did not see the winged necklaces of God,
Neither could I see a rainbow being formed,
Nor even hear their chorus like songs,
No clanking of wings, No music of their joys,
No rise and fall of images like thoughts,
No sounds and music touching my heart.
One day, I was stunned to hear,
The species of goose are in great danger,
Man has stolen many of even God’s necklaces,
The rainbow of birds and the grandeur of sky,
A great heritage of Nature is vanishing before our eyes.
Oh, my sweet friend,
Will I ever be able to see and hear you again?
When you would clank your wings, in the windless sky,
Creating a dance and music, on such lofty heights,
Where no musician can ever fly,
With a hope till I am here on this earth my friend,
I would keep waiting and watching
For you O wild Geese in the September sky.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 1st Oct. 2010
Dedicated to my loving wife Dr. Shashi Kapoor, as a birthday gift for her
Birthday on 2nd Oct. who loves animals and birds more than any thing
Else.

Cold and dark, the eyes of the depths
glaring at the stars above.
Few dare descend the steps
which reach down to oblivion’s cove.
Heavy, the desire for truth,
like the chains dragging my body further down
unto fate unknown.
Beyond recompense, lies the ruin
sunken to forbidden ground,
now home only to the strangest of creations
and catacomb to the drowned slaves of history.
Will all memories be as this one day?
Ghosts that haunt the corpses of humanity’s ambition?
Black are the bells that once chimed to announce omen.
Buried are the thoughts that walked my mind.
Broken are the tables where ideas once feasted.
Bound are the hopes, eaten by preying sharks of doubt.
Weighing down, the garments choke the breath of life.
There, where insanity was sane, beneath facade’s streams
lies truth, in the sea of forgotten dreams.

Twigs
Flowers bloom
And flowers wilt.
Flowers blush
And flowers fade.
The eternity is only in me-
The twig that bears the flowers.
Sparrows are born
And sparrows die.
Sparrows fly
And brighten the sky.
That who nurtures sparrows is me-
A cozy make of a twig upon a twig.
The sun fades
And moon is born.
The twilight blurs
And moonlight spreads.
All the soothing moonlight beams are me-
A crisscross of unfathomed twigs.
Whether in its birth
Or in its death;
In the heart
Of its heart;
The entire beauty is none but one-
A design of mysterious twigs.

It was “Death” you drew.
You rolled that slip of paper
between your fingers
thin as onionskin,
and dropped it in your pocket.
Pastel lady,
did you wish to spare
us? You fluttered fingers
over the basket, and drew out
“Patio Party,”
a subject we must address
before we meet again.
How many great poems
have been penned on Death?
How many on a
Patio Party?

“Look up,” she cried,
And the rains came swiftly,
Overwhelming her youth
With migrant purpose.
Summer’s demise,
So abrupt,
Interrupted her sound-scape,
Giving her pause.
“Look around,” she said,
And autumn bowed to her,
A colorful character
In shades of golden afternoons.
Sequestered among
Such vividness,
She found solace and comfort
Through the grace of experience.
“Look up,” she laughed,
And silver dusted her hair,
Weighing the diversity
She wore as a crown.
Abstract changes
Became her teacher,
A benevolent
Yet unforgiving presence.
“Look around,” she said,
And spread her arms wide,
Dancing in the perspective
Of winter.
This life is transitory,
Best marked
By the seasoning
Of one’s attitude.

There’s nothing all that scary
about a jack ‘o lantern.
It’s just a hollow pumpkin
with customary mouth, nose and eyes
carved to form the usual wry face. . .
Imagine that same pumpkin
on Halloween night - lit up on the porch
of some dark and eerie lonely worn out house.
And there’s no one there but you!
You approach the door but get a strange vibration
this is not a house for trick or treating!
No one seems to be there, and yet. . .
as you turn to go, you are sure that you can see
writhing worms and cockroaches
come crawling from the flashing eyes
and the grinning orifice of that pumpkin face.
And you can almost swear,
as your skin turns into goose flesh,
that you hear that bad Jack snigger,
his bright eyes trained on you as you rush off.
He’s laughing at the humanness in you.

The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.
I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.
And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.
But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,
As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.
And here I am, pouncing at ground before me,
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.

Your sweet nectar
wraps around my senses
like jungle vines
steady drums beating
Your heart near mine
Your strong hands
hold me suspended
by my waist
Just enough pain and strength
against my supple skin
For my taste
The musk of your
sculpted body and the forest
has me going wild
But yet, the tender way you
protect me, reminds me of
Being a child
A safe familiarity
with a strain of animalistic
seduction
Your invisible hold over me
leaves me arrow poisoned
Unable to function
My long dark hair wraps you
with smells of coconut and ocean Sun
your locks full of mud and enemies
Blood
together, my warrior
We make One

We seine them up
like dust
in pollen-stained hands,
briefly weight them,
balancing them in minds,
determining worth,
profundity.
And like those before,
we toss them absently
into wind—
winnowing maple seeds—
whirling them from us—
as we shape lives,
change destinies.
Now,
they seem to flit
to nothingness,
like us—
pale night insects
pestering
opal moons,
infestations of night
thickly settling
on the liquid glass
of our tongues.

Airborne amongst the clouds.
Looking down on lands expanse.
Dreamlike swirls in foggy haze.
Mountain peaks rise fearlessly from surface...
Not intimidated by their height...
frigid spikes in awe of your weightless station...
...you are flying.
Movements absent of effort... sliding through airy elements with...
... just a thought.
Just a nod and then you're there, when you were just here.
Landscapes calling below... you laugh joyful...
Condemning grounds faulty gravity for crippling holds...
...in your waking hours.
Shallow elevation, mans craft at sights focus...
As you drift graciously through their skies.
Wondering of sleeping spirits cuddled below...
Do they know?
Can they feel the breezy wafts of air you leave behind?
Sun rising, painting rosy colors mixed with reds and blues...
Stark relationships with mountains darkened shadows...
Glory of Gods showmanship at your visions quest.
Moving swiftly, feeling wake upon you,
So much to know, to see, to feel. You hurry further...
...ignoring consciousness' tugging call.
Frozen breezes numb your cheeks, arms extended for winds embrace...
Pulling back to earthly vessel,
Your soul comforts into place...
...yet mind not wishing to leave its lofty travels...
reluctant, slow to waken body's senses.
You think upon the wondrous time,
You lifted soul into heavens graces,
And left your chains behind, inside that shell...
'Til daylights demand recalled,
Your spirit to its place.
And you wait anxiously for evenings call,
So another journey might begin...
But time dims hopeful dreams of flight...
And you soon forget the windy whispers,
That held you in their grasp.
But for a night and early morn...
You flew.
And Spirit held you in its soft, gentle...
Loving embrace.

Behind glass, the street seems immovable, but shift
the pane and its throb unsettles the dust from his books.
There are vignettes on open display, hanging on lines
with work shirts, skipping down sidewalks alongside
tots with scraped knees. Long ago, he’d given his TV
to the goodwill, tired of static, its dumbfounded glare.
He has his solitaire, a pipe, and well-thumbed classics.
The view competes, often, with Tolstoy and Hugo,
and he allows the distraction, smiles one afternoon
when he spots Esmeralda dancing on the corner, no
hunchback in sight, the trinkets on her wrist sending
sunlight his way. The garbage truck comes Tuesdays
carrying Odysseus who ignores the Lotus-Eaters, but
nods to Nymphs. Yesterday, at the Nine Muses Café,
he’d met Captain Ahab, wild eyed, bushy browed,
back from Afghanistan and now missing both legs.
There are epics told on stoops, novellas whisper
near bus stops. But there is one tome he is fearful
to read, a mystery that unleashes loneliness. Each
night before ten, someone plays over and over again,
Rachmaninoff’s Paganini, variation number eighteen.
The notes, the rhapsody, reminds him of browning
pages, the worn joker in his deck, her face that day
as he carelessly weaned them of chapters, just left,
and he is forced to remember the paradox between
a woman’s thighs, a strength that submits so softly,
each night before ten, he becomes both waif and thief,
each night before ten, he is confronted by his-story.

A burst of white light
gamma rays, overbearing
a flash of brilliance
burns through to my soul
everything is like hell
the world starts to melt
in the blink of an eye
just the cold blackness
of night
I don't care if I am not again
what I once was, for at this moment
I am greater now
than ever before
I took the path between
teetering, tight roping walking
right up to my right
divined in my unholy state
I thought I told you
I am your king
still you sit there, hesitating
I know you hate me
what does that mean?
I hate just about everything
still I'm chosen
I did not wish before
now bow down to me
refuse me no more
for I shall always be your demon
until you accept me as your King.
I don't even know you
though you say we used to be
best of friends, you and me
the day you ditched me
I remember now
exactly how it played out
back when we were just tiny things
even back then I still was King
you thought me stupid
just a ruse
I would laugh inside, you see?
not one of you single, mean people
ever even knew me
in a world, mostly seen to me
that is why only I can be your true King
and bring forth a new source
of light everlasting.
As two worlds collide slowly aligned
one wrapped in shadows
one bathed in white
evils swirling in the clouds above
I'll always be the king you love
to hate or despise as in your blood
I thought I told you, I am the one
I am the way, the way out shall be shown
breathe in my spirit as it carries you away
breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space
and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough
higher than you've ever dreamed of
for I am king now, and your in my hell
your in my imagination, I'll just never tell
you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now
if you try and see
you were always found the most
shared in the light cast upon me
the last bright star in heaven.
Denounce my name, if you may
One year later, still not afraid
A black sheep, a darkened spade
That's just life, I'm not right
I'm in the wrong, follow along
Like a piper, I'll pitch a song
Mesmerized, the weak wills sing
I thought he told you, he's still our king.

I dreamt your illusion
{In voyeuristic colours.}
Bedded down the rust
of wizen memories
{sun dried.}
Laid harvest moon
upon devils night;
drank vacuous images
it produced.
In the saw-teeth bracelet,
I read another epitaph
{and learned your name.}
A bible, sewn to your heart,
Kerouac’s roman candle
burned bright,
{not a tiger in sight.}
Yet you always purred,
so loud.
I watched as you
overflowed,
drenching the thirst
of arid admirers.
{Laughing at drunken egos.}
That frown you dropped,
landed upside down.
I watched as you picked
up a smile,
then wonder who the madman was.
{It was always you.}
Macadam was missing
(in)sanity that you threw
at empty spaces,
while trying to hide,
{in between raindrops.}
At least in tomorrow’s birth
we can douse explanations.

What if Mother Nature
retired,
and I applied for her position?
How would I dare
to assume,
her un-ending cycles;
her secret duties?
Could I invoke such power,
or must I simply become her?
Spin myself
into a cocoon of natural faith.
Let the atoms of the cosmos
transform my light into spirit.
Would I then emerge,
complete with every force of mystery?
Awaken each day with pink mist,
and burn each evening sky
with crimson?
Command each leaf, each breath
and every symphony
of living?
Would I wear her gowns
of argent, lavender and aqua;
step lightly on mossy stones,
and dance upon silver meadows?
Grace the heavens
in cloud-white glinting wings
and in
the depths of darkest night
bear stars, filled
with the promise
of every beginning?
Suzanne Delaney

Collisions avalanche, beneath the icy
Waves, of the North Atlantic.
Birthed in the cradled of Belfast,
A maritime giant, became crimsoned,
By champions shattered tradition,
An ironic omen presence to come.
For she bares tragedy’s mark, the name
Given to this colossus, the titanic.
An aquatic diamond gem, of ocean
Liners, refined and polished for the
Privileged elite.
A jewel shinning, with a brilliance fire,
No vessel could rival, this grand ladies,
Opulence.
The unsinkable legend survives even,
From under the brimey fathoms depths.
In the whispering wind echoes, carried
Just above the foam and sprays watery
Crest, a haunting refrain is spoken,
Ice burg dead ahead.
A sheer ice blade, is driven into the
Hulls breast plate, puncturing the maid
On her maiden voyage.
Death's fiddler plays an eerie tune,
As the screaming chorus sings,
Dooms lullaby, of remorseful regrets,
Of the living dead.
Abandon ship, women and children
First, but life’s greed proceeds protocol,
And man take seats reserved while
Others are simply left empty.
A once shinning star, is broken now
In two, rivaling in pain, she the
Grand lady, shutters, grasping for
Some hold, but fates evil hand
Pulls her beneath the frozen
Angry sea.
To rest at the bottom of titan's
Kingdom, in a crept mausoleum of
Seaweed, and coral debris.
Yet the Titanic still remains the
Diamond jewel of the seven seas,
Her mystery's beauty, a mystic
Inspiring mankind to solve
The questions that remain,
Unanswered.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
HISTORICAL

Soft flame flutters gently before surrendering to darkness
wealth of golden glow.
Your mind has been captured by dreams, pirates of the imagination
controlling your activity.
Crescent of gray light fades through the arch windows;
you become spotlight bright!
I study your eyes as they dash
through never-ever real land.
Are you racing, trying to catch the runaway unicorn?
Steady, boy, this is your fantasy; let the legend come to you.
Garnish him with a crimson saddle,
canter across hills of sweet poppies.
Your yellow-brick road need not bear lions,
unless you wish to be their king --
color-splashed vision,
enhanced by your chestnut mane.
You roll; our waterbed rolls wave-like with you.
lions and unicorns dwell not within the sea;
they vanish,
creating a tiny subconscious wrinkle of memory.
Your fingers tighten, clinging to your raft,
tossed by the tides and waves.
Pan flutes from the bank's hanging cliff --
turbulence subsides; you float smoothly o’er open sea.
So you mellow your mood, follow your eyes
up, up, it glares but does not burn.
Sun cannot hurt a dreamer’s eyes
unless you let it.
Stare as it slowly sinks to a spectral sunset
that becomes a rainbow -- because you see it that way!
Your raft is now a craft, thirty feet, steel-plated,
sprouting rings of purple smoke and wings of green feathers.
Your chariot, my lean and softly-lit friend,
chases the sun across the sky to find your pot of gold,
when the soft flame flutters gently
before surrendering to darkness.

You're on my mind
Doing things which you
Love most with me
Creating marvels of life
You want to share
Making impossibility
Possible and real
Exploring the vastness
Of love we share
Even in our minds
Let's don't stop
These uncanny feelings
Until we realize
It's all in our minds.

She will rise up from the water, in the midday afternoon
Lightly vaulting from the darkness and the diamonds of her throne
Splashing forth as if a fountain, spilling colors silver, gold
Wearing combs adorned with seashells, from her home deep in the cold
She has no tongue, she has no tears
She had no clothes, will mystically appear
No need for air, her hair is fair
Her eyes are clear of unfound love
She is a siren, she is an angel, she is a myth, for many seasons
Is she real, or apparition…, do we see her for a reason?
She will stretch out her long tail, on bed of kelp-strewn sand
Soaking up the violet rays, to dry her golden strands
She bewitches with amusement
While the darting fish play games
She is not just an illusion, and she has no given name
Origins are buried in the past, in the language of forgetting
She knows on shore, lurks cages that will bind her for her passions
Her repertoire of movement, and exquisite, agile form
A creature bathed in mystery, wears pearls of wet adornment
Ever mindful of the music, human splashing rage of oars
And the chorus of voices, shouting gale force winds from shore
She shuts her dimming eyes, where sun will never be...
And dives back to the purple twilight,
And the freedom of the sea
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------

What does one do when in the public loo,
Apart from the obvious one’s or two’s, well it’s true!
Walls decorated with an array of graffiti and words
Scribble, or jokes, tasteless, amusing or absurd
The mischief one gets up to, in a moment of quiet
Who would of thought to have a marker on hand
Ready for the opportunity to sign one’s tag
Tell me have you ever pondered the thought
Of having a wall of poetry, for the toilet door
Like a whiteboard, that you can clean with ease
Always ready for a new day, or week of ideas
Just imagine the mind’s workings in progress
Looking straight back at you when your mind is in idle
This is what happens when one is on the loo
Time on one’s hands to think things through!

By ears and whiskers, ain't no more
A sadder thing that being in the dog house,
On a rainy day.
Make no bones about it, when momma's
Mad I'm hanging my head low.
Jo dirt has nothing on how bad this hound feels,
But honestly instincts roller, over road wisdom's,
Howling, but I'd mean it dearest sweet mommy.
With woofs and kisses can I make it all better,
It's lonely on this side of the doorway.
With you out there and me in here.
Kibbles my bits I'd give up my
Monthly allotment,
Of bacon bits for a true heart felt,
That a good boy one more time.
If I could I'd bring you a beer,
Just to see that frown disappear.
Perking these two ears up to here,
Your laughter ring out at bed time.
Or a soft whispers friendly voice, speaking
Good night dear old friend.
All four paws down I won't do it again,
Cross this canine's fury little heart.
But the rain keeps falling,
As outside the sunshine is calling,
Our names to be together,
There's no tears like these rainy days.
So I'll sit patiently,
For the sun to rise again in your heart,
When ever that maybe,
Because simply put I'm loyalties pup,
Just waiting for you to bring me
On the right side of
The door once more.
To sit beside thee again.
A companion and dearest friend,
Always letting the sun to shine down
On us forever more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Thunder and lightning ruled the black night
As the frightened young mother struggled
Beads of sweat ran down her pretty face
The old midwife calmly sponged off sweat
She hummed a lullaby to soothe her pain
Praying that the husband would be back soon
Five miles to travel in treacherous weather
Seeking the one doctor for hundreds of miles
Twelve hours of labor now seemed like days.
Fell trees and shaved off roof tops, toppled by whipping winds
Rising rivers were swollen, and flooded make shift roads
Endless rain poured like there would be no end
Meanwhile her unborn child lay bridged as it battled for release
Suddenly the door burst open and the doctor rushed in
His clothes sticking to his skin; there was no time to change
With his palm he felt her forehead asking pertinent questions
He and the old midwife tried manually to turn the exhausted child
At each attempt, mother’s painful cry was heard in the distance
She gave one guttural scream and usherd her baby into the world
The child, born limp, barely breathing as the mid wife took her away
He starred into her eyes, and knew that she was beyond his help
He brought the new born to lie in her mother’s warm arms
The silence was noticeable; the raging storm had passed
The sound of light rain, now a comfort, gently tapped upon tin roof
In a soft, weak voice she called her husband and managed a smile
Then she blessed her child with words from a mother’s heart
“May you be a light, swift as lightning when days grow dark.”
“May you have wisdom and foresight beyond your days”
“May your heart nurture and remain open to love”
“Like rain, may you bring life to all “
“Born this stormy night, your name will be “Rain”.
~*~
By : Audrey Carey
Note: Imagination at work:) Written for Constance's "Rain, The Story" Contest.
My imagination took me to some little village in Africa. This scene is played out in
many villages where health care is non-existent. However, there's always, thanks
to God, a wise, caring "midwife" to help mothers during delivery.
Everyday, countless miracles are performed by God through "midwives"!

Mystique Lady and the Unicorn (collaboration ~NIKKO)
by: NIKKO
An invisible string was created from the beginning of time,
it is wound around my horn, and bound to your heart
Invincible.
Each time your heart beats, you tug at this string,
drawing me closer to you
You are unaware of this, I love you
yet I fear and resist you, dear Lady
Not only have you captivated me, but my fate is in your hands
I am the last Unicorn in existence
Kings and nobles desire me for my horn,
for it can purify poisoned wells
and they know only you have power over me
Sweet virgin, all I ask is
one song to enchant my ears
one glimpse of your precious smile
one kiss from your ruby lips
one whiff from your perfumed dress
...a single stroke from your gentle hands
and I shall dream of you forever
Betray me not please by handing me to the men
Let me lay my horned head on your lap even just once…
then set me free
by~ POET D.
You are Testing me my rear precious unicorn,
every King has offered more than our beauty holds.
Unfold I will hide with you in a placed to protect us from every face.
Avoiding your poisonous horn, in which I fail to feed my soul with your purity.
I will move you from this revolution in which has troubled the monarchy.
Medieval strings of power to catch you~ your the last of your kind.
My Unicorn you are the medicine, the symbol ones seeks to rule darkness.
With passion I hold a belief that your horn can heal illness,
your strength will carry on.
Every time you returned to drink the waters of a no man's paradise,
I reach out to touch your radiance once a year.
Your horn can cure plague, rage, rabies, fever's and more!
Become my host let me wear you in this mystical amulet.
I will wear you as my jewelry while you lay your head on my lap.
My Unicom of purity, I will never tell the ingredient and secrets we share,
as we got lost in each others stare.
I will ride with you and never betray your existence.
Together we will gather the fresh fruit and CORN~
My precious unicorn my virginity is your dignity.
Bathe with me throughout my imortal long and healthy life.
I'll sing you a song good night.
Ali-corn you are the weight in gold, all emperors, will fall at my feet.
One kiss with my red ruby lips!
I "guarantee" you a gift only we both see.
""If you believe in me, I'll believe in you!""

On the streets of sin city, on the high roller's main drag,
Known as the Las Vegas Strip, a gentlemen phantom
Does stroll dressed in all black attire, striding forth with his golden Cain,
Flipping a silver chip into the air, and mocking at its power.
The devil's agent of deception is he, retaining a list of names
To collect upon, this gentlemen bandit of the forsaken.
He is here on the dark master’s behalf, ready to claim on
The I.O.U's signed by the greedy, and innocence fallen.
Quietly, moving amongst the crowded venues, he waits
Until his lord calls the name of the unlucky, to be reposed.
Dance do the neon lights, flashing towards pleasure dens of iniquity,
As ladies whom belong unto the night itself, offer their
Tokens of favor, for a working man's paycheck.
Black jacks twenty-one, cut those cards, and pass them out
The first timers dumb luck, will deliver him unto evil,
On this walkers dead man's list tonight.
Against the loaded dice, no soul is left unsanctified,
On the sacred green velvet altar, the wheel of fortune
Spins out of control, then hitting the baccarat tables
Wooden wall, someone screams snake eyes.
Then all is lost, faded are the dreams of illusion, melting away
Into the harsh desert soil, along the road side leading to sin city.
Beneath the arid sandy duns, lies the grave yard
Of the unknown unidentified, a missing persons
Smorgasbord of the rich and infamous, lying right
Beside, the unreported poor man corpse.
This is the Grim Reapers play ground, taunting
And tormenting, those begging for redemptions
Last chance to gain a reprieves pardon.
But when tapped by his golden cain of death,
Your life's essence has wagered it's last bet,
To the winner goes the spoils, and now you
Belong unto the devil.
People say what happens in Vegas stays
There, and rightly so will he agree, with his blackened
Heart and soul, for after all is this not
The capital of hell on earth, known as
Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada.
The populations of the undead just added
Another’s names tally and the gentlemen
Dressed all in black, is sent a wandering
Again amongst the crowed streets, to claim
Another victim in the dark master’s wrath of
Vengeance.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Hard is the rock, yet it does roll, beneath the oceans
Swift currents its rough edges become smooth, rounded
But it makes no sound; it is the silence of stone.
Gray is granite, as markers grave marker, yet in times
Harshness the names that speak for a life lost, is vanquished
Do to erosion and the elemental tides of nature, thus is the
Silence of stone reinforced.
Cast down are the mountains of greatest beauty, due to
The ravishing of time, natural monuments reaching upwards
Unto the very heavens themselves, yet these are divine alpines,
Remain left in the shadow of the silence of stone, unable to speak.
Burn does not the eternal soul of our world, a cores heart of flame,
Heating our inner desire to thrive and survive as a species, but if it’s
Fiery furnish pilot light flickered out, turning our planet inside and out.
Would we be able to cry out for helps support, nay behold the true silence
Of stone.
Ideal statues of forbidden deities, stand covered beneath the
Rain forest canopies of the past, nay forgotten by their idol
Worshipers, vanquished, crippled they do crumble to the ground,
Banished Gods, in the silence of stone.
Grinding, cutting humanity tries in vain to leave its eternal
Mark, for generations in the future to know that we existed,
Carving epic figures amongst the rocky tops most high,
But we are the dinosaurs of our own mortality,
And in this venue, behold the stone remains
Silent not revealing our existence.
As the thundering asteroid giants of heaven, cascade
Ever closer to us from above, the world still casts
Rocks of ignorance against their kindred brethren,
Denying that the collision is due to happen no
Matter what.
But stone never shatters, it’s solid,
And it weighs heavy on the intellectual mind,
But stone ears remain dual of sound, again
The silence is deafening.
Hard is the rock, yet it does roll, beneath the oceans
Swift currents its rough edges become smooth, rounded
But it makes no sound; it is the silence of stone.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

On the bank of my heart's Eden,
Reunited, but parted, were life and I,
By an unseen veil.
And now I stand,
Watching,
The unearthly land,
Whose beautiful weather,
I cannot feel but sense,
Is something more than spring,
And held away by an arcane fence,
There stand the angelic flowers blossoming,
Whose sweet scents,
And colours really soothing,
I know are there,
There presence I can swear,
But I am barred to perceive,
More than as if in a monochromatic dream.
I see the colours,
And the lights,
But not enough bold are my sights,
To carry them across the door to my soul,
As they do not know,
Where the door is hidden,
Maybe in the very Eden.
Maybe below the long, green grass,
Made of emeralds' slivers,
Fore whose assuaging greenness my eyes crave.
Or maybe under those godly rivers,
Flowing into the oceans of light,
Maybe in the core of air, in flight,
The heavenly air,
To breath in which, I long,
And to fill it with a freedom song,
To light candles of peace in its each layer.
The saintly air,
In which I dream to disperse,
Like prophetic words,
That can echo the divine call,
To open the doors to my soul.
I look at my Eden through the invisible wall,
Knowing, somehow, that one day,
The wall will be melted away,
By my tears,
Swept away,
By the breeze of my prayers.
I stand praying to be reunited,
With my breaths, my soul, my flight,
Gazing at the wonderful but distant sight,
With my heart heavy,
Corners of my eyes wet,
I pray that I may get,
And reach soon, what is mine,
Feeling to have heard,
A whisper from the divine,
That to reach it, I have been destined.

Nyx opened black arms
threading her twilight fingers
and cradled my awe
to turn my hair, white
she filled my eyes with stars
firing a comet to
the core of my heart
my second breathe
carved dragons of fire,
as Aeolus filled each lung,
Terpsikhore sang music
into the life and death
of this epic
~~~~~
I taste a southerly breeze
catching it on the tip of my tongue
rolling it into my lungs
I sing appegio
to throw a shadow of night
the circle of her arms
has tightened,
and the nebula
in my eyes,
threaten to shoot
from their sockets
I have finally
felt the meteor
lodged in my heart,
move in its longing
for one last blaze
of release,
only the breath of God,
holds for revelation
~~~~~
TERPSIKHORE (or Terpsichore) was one of the nine Mousai,
the goddesses of music, song and dance. In late classical times
--when the Muses were assigned specific literary and artistic
spheres--Terpsikhore was named Muse of choral song and
dancing, and represented with a plectrum and lyre.
AIOLOS (or Aeolus) was the king of the winds who kept the
stormy Anemoi Thuellai and Aellai locked away inside the hollow
heart of the floating island of Aiolia. At the command of the gods
he released these to wreck devastating storms. Since the Winds
were often conceived of as horse-shaped spirits, Aiolos was titled
Hippotades, "the reiner of horses," from the Greek hippos ("horse")
and tadên ("reined in tightly").

The voices grow louder,
Intensifying with emotion, anger lining every aggressive word.
My insides squeeze tighter as the vitriol poisons my mind,
How does such hostility exist?
As the sound of hatred deepens,
The feelings strengthen their grip, like a vice,
So tight, I can no longer breathe
All the negative emotions I have ever felt, fill me,
Threatening to overflow.
So long have they been banished…
Enough. No more!
My mouth opens,
An earsplitting scream of pain and suffering shatters the silence,
Sobs of sorrow and grief wrack my body,
Murderous shrieks of anger and hate,
Wretched cries of self-pity and self-loathing,
Poison the air.
Now, free of these emotions.
But the monster still exists
Within the dark depths of my mind.

What keeps me awake
When the cool breeze bears whispers of things to come
Promises to be fulfilled on the morrow?
Is it my joyless moment of cognizance
knowing that this stagnant night ripples from no real breeze
Only imagined promises birthed on the whims of a longing heart?
Yet, what keeps me awake
is not these dreams of flattering winds
but it is this night of lifeless branches and unrifled leaves
the lack of real whispering winds taunting my heart
What truly keeps me awake
Is the silence of tomorrow.

I was only ten when I first fell in love
surprisingly with the vast blue sky,
the sky was very near to me then
almost within the reach of my tiny hands
as if I could easily touch it or smell its fragrance.
Its changing colour used to take me in a world
where I built palaces of childhood dreams
those childhood dreams had the wings of Pegasus,
and I used to talk to the sky for hours,
my mother smilingly called me sky-crazy
and my father predicted about my bleak future,
my friends used to pull my leg.
Now after so many years
I have proved my father's prediction wrong
and some of my friends are jealous about me,
but I don't have the time now
to look at or talk to the sky,
only occasionally I can see it now
through my back view mirror~
gradually distancing itself from me.
==============000==============

World is amazing,as described by philosophers
but...what actually in world is amazing
The suffering,of those caught by the waves of fate.
Why there are rich and poor,
god could have created only rich!
Then why did he do so,to make the world balanced.
Rich can serve poor by loving them and giving them,
so they are blessed with more.
Poor can survive with the help of rich.
Balance which is needed,created by our god...but,
is it followed ?
Rich are becoming more rich and poor are still in the hands of poverty
Condition of world is wonderful.
God, fooled by the rich.
The balance of world is lost..
World fears god...its shivering is heard in many parts.
Help the world god.....please..

The tangled sadness of souls lost
Between Heaven and Earth,
Eternally on their way,
Lifting upwards,
Soaring,
Climbing.
Only to feel the ground’s pull,
The unseen ropes.
Trapped in intermediation.
They have left us without leaving,
Departed without arriving,
No sweet Lethe for them,
No afterlife among ethereal
Beauties bathed in eternal light,
No rest in a perfect balance,
Outside the toss of seasons.
So this is purgatory,
This hell of a half-way house.
Stretched out in an
Agony of elongation,
We can sometimes see them
In the wriggle of smoke
In striated clouds.
They are the larks, perhaps,
That dive into the sky and climb
Climb
Climb
Until their frightened tiny frantic panic
Sends them spiralling down
Down
Down
To the thin air over the cruel stubble
Of dead wheat.

How can one express the baffling depths of obscurity?
How can one behold to open the shafts of the mind?
I have never been able to solve the mystery—
Of myself. . .
I wish at times that my life was no more
That I could live as another and finally see things right
But I am always stuck in this darkness
And I cannot see this mind in light
There are beasts. . .demons prowling through the wasteland
Searching for any remaining life
And if they are ever found—
They are doomed and consumed
Fear is their downfall and they never fail to smell it
Their ashes remain, dancing with the imaginary breeze
It is silent here—there are no answers
I wish there were answers. . .
But maybe there was never a reason
No answers. . .
Talons extend and clench around my heart
They will never seek me out—they left me here
It is like they knew…I had no reason—that was the answer
I feel the pulse of my dangling life
Alone in the dark, whimpering like a child
I have scared myself, becoming this dragon-daggered youth
No balm in Gilead!
No eyes to see
All I know will never be free
I don’t need anyone!
You are a disgrace—scum of the waste!
You have everything, you ungrateful little nothing
You are a joke. . .
So swallow it all up like the pushover you are
Stand your lowest and trudge right through
No questions. No answers. Just . You.
Or just lie back down into the mush of disease
It has already infected you to the core
Accept who you are, you ugly pestilence!
I hate you
Who are you to be glorified?
Dream snatcher. . .murderer of all things bright
Saturated in what you call light
I see right through—even as the reflections shatter
All of the dead kept you alive—they all matter…
But alive you are the worst there is
False savior—edited attention whore
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I hide. . .
Desperation. . .desperation. . .
I sob and cry kneeling in defeat
For once I am right. . .I am right

An earthen gray memorial stands alone against
A rugged desert landscape, built by the mortal
Hands of the faithful.
No bells do ring, in the churches steeple, but in the
Heart of Texas it's sounding message can never
Be silenced, remember the Alamo.
For the fighting men of valor's honors sacrificed,
All for liberation's call to freedom.
Listen to their whispering voices, traveling
Across the tangle weed dunes, and harken unto
Them, never to surrender even after death, do
They fight for country, hearth, and home.
These pioneer men whom built this nation's
Backbone, carved it out, with steeled bowie knife
Sharpened edge, and musket balls powder's flash.
Gathered here, for one last hurrah’s gallant stand off,
To the victor's gaining everlasting immortality.
Gallantry’s brave, shed their dearest blood, sacrificing
Giving everything they had, including life itself.
Cannon thunder bolts roar, as lightening rods raw force
Striking against mortars harden walls, yet the
Spirits of bravery strong, did not yield, or raise
The white shield of surrender.
Keep thy black powder dry, lift your rifles high,
But don't fire men, until you see the whites of
Your enemies eyes.
Under the hailing of gunfire’s smoke, did hells
Storm rage, both sides dying for their country's
Beliefs right or wrong.
Death's battlefield littered with fragments deceased,
A graveyard left unattended, wars unfortunate
Fallen, became salvation’s tribute to behold, in the distance
A tattered flag, still waves in the winds of freedom.
Bricks of defense, shattered as if made of glass,
Debris spewing outwards, towards martyred legacy's
Champions, killing many before they hit the ground,
Receiving remains of the valiant dead.
Oh in the heaven's trumpets did herald, these
Courageous souls, welcoming honored soldiers, home wards
Unto God's boundless country, for these explorers
To discover the horizon's endless divides beyond.
Prisoners living, taken by horse and rider were forced
To bow, beneath a foreign banners alien flag.
Yet even than their American hearts didn't waiver,
Until the swords steel severed life, from the fleshes beating
Drumming from within.
But the last warrior yelled a rebels battle cry,
And as he fell with his last dying breath,
Yelled out,
Remember the Alamo!!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Our song is something
we must be
ready to sing
before we enter into
a new life
At the gates
the decision will
be made
We are only a small part
of the multiverse in the end
Our truths
are a thing to cling to
when shadows grow long
We'll learn what we
must
Face the future with a
grim determination
At the gates the
decision will be made

I failed English in High School
Could not understand the writing rule
If I say, when it reigns it pores, people agree
Yet when I write the same phrase people say what’s wrong with me
I before E (accept) after C less it sounds like an a as in neighbor or weigh
Where do the words foreign and sovereign (steigh)
Do they stay with a goose among geese or with a moose among (meese)
Do they live in a house with a scavenger mouse or something much bigger
Is there several (hice) with several scavenger mice

"Each experience is locked within my heart and only I hold the key..."
Please do not edit the quote , or add anything to it, use as given.
It can be the first line of your poem if that is what you want
FAMILIARITY GROWN STRANGE, COMFORTS NAUSEATED.
CARRESSING HANDS CAUSING SHUDDERS WITH
THEIR CLAMMY COLD TOUCH.
PASSION PAUSES IN YOUR AVERTED EYES,
WHILE YOUR LIPS PRETEND TO SAY OTHERWISE.
THIS EMOTIONAL HAULOCOST
CAUSING MY ARMEGEDDON.
IF ONLY MY HISTORY,
IS TO REMAIN, RATHER
THAN REMAIN THE MOMENTS,
OF MY PRESENT REPEATING THE,
SAME SONGS OF SORROW.
METHOIC MEMORIES HYPNOTIZING EXISTENCE,
PASSIVELY,
OBSERVING OTHERS ALLOWING DISTANCE.
BETWEEN SELF AND SENSE,
SEARCHING, THRU CROWDS OF CONFLICTS,
WITH THE OCEANS OF EYES IN THE HORIZON DROWNING,
IN THE SEA OF LIFE.

Across the land he strides this night,
Amide the living and the dead.
He goes confidently in search of a fight,
Harboring no amount of dread.
He seeks those going bump in the night,
Including the living dead.
Cross bow at ready with hidden knives,
He’ll clear this land he’s said.
Wow to the wicked on Hallows Eve,
Be careful as you run amuck, and hide wherever you will…
For Van Helsings aim is straight and true,
As is his beating heart, a rare few have ever imbued.
And of course those magnificent fighting skills…
No one can ever outdo.
Consider well your choice of path between evil and the good,
For Van Helsing’s waiting right ahead…
To take good care of you.
Contest: Halloween Night
8-22-2012

TALKING TO ME
Do you ever get the feeling that inanimate objects are talking to you?
Sometimes I do, not often, but sometimes.
Like trees that seem to be murmuring in an unknown language
somehow suggesting a meaning to me.
And clouds when billowed tell me of some distant place I haven't visited.
They display portly faces that look strangely familiar and seem to mouth
broken words.
Once I heard running water in a stream ripple in nomadic sounds, it told me
the secrets of how to go with the flow.
Flowers often, when in full bloom gossip and say "look at me, aren't I beautiful?"
But when dying cry out say "I was younger then, but now I'm old and frail!"
It seems when picking out socks to wear, I imagine them vying for my attention.
Pick me.. no pick me. And when I do, feel a little guilty that I didn't pick the other.
Once I took out and put back pliers from my tool holder on the wall. One cried out to me saying that I shouldn't put it so close to the other one (considered far inferior). And of course, the screwdrivers made it known that Phillips do not belong with Flatheads.
Should it be, do I have to endure these insults to my sensibilities?
As I said, sometimes.

My eyes are all out of breath
A day such as this
feels the calm fingers
........ of eternity
In this....the morning of a new year
change stands on the horizon
Yet, earth feels no quiver
...the air
weaves no motion in the shafts of wheat
to mark the soundless trail by which the seasons pass
So hushed a day is this
that one mere leaf
floating earthward with compliant sigh
would send the echo of it's whispering
across the purple arches of the sky
can I? should I? even try to write a poem?
for, who am I to describe?
a
q u i e t
b e a u t y
t r a n s c e n d i n g
a l l
e y e s
this
gift
from
God
____________________________________________________________

If I reached deep in your soul
I would feel the poetry within
Your emotions and fantasies
All the desires you keep
Secrets buried deep
Your blood is the ink
Your breath is the life
Your heart is the feeling
Your mind defines
Together it's sublime
Awaken by whispers
My breathe tickling your ear
Like music so sweet
Feeling the weight
Of every word
Your words
If I whisper in your ear
Your poetry that I see
It's then you will know
What I already know
How you feel
Deep within

Thinking myself unborn
I can’t help
Wondering what the
State of non-being
Must be like
If opposites attract
And that’s a
Naturally occurring fact
Then perhaps it
Stands to reason
Darkness is out
Of season when
Light comes pouring
In like sweet
Summer shower rains
But not if
Existence doesn’t matter
And all is
Nothing more important
Than the unborn
Dreams of many
Not yet shattered
Such as the
Un-poetic poetry posing
Like masquerading mannequins
In storefront windows
And songs unsung
By the old
Masters who were
Never allowed to
Create something new
Because they too
Were left unborn
And every breath
They never breathed
Is still waiting
Patiently for them
In the airy
Skies where birds
Nest and fly
And the leaves
Bend and bow
Knowing strangely somehow
They’re not alone
And when fall
Comes calling them
Back once more
To the ground
Whence they came
They never complain
No need to
Explain to them
The reason for
Their own mortal
Worth which is
Nothing less than
Their miraculous living
Dying and gratifying
Moment of pure
Unimaginably timeless un-birth.

Covered in road kill
Winners and losers
Confusion breaks me free
I let the books fall
So it could breathe
Below the surface
I let the words
Expand my mind
I retrieved the page
That allowed peace
Burned, what had already been burned
Remember my name
Full moon whispers light
My song
My song dancing shadows
Forever sings
Forever
Sings
01/20/12

Beneath the fathom’s deep, in wreckage’s graveyard
Of the forgotten, here the broken bones of ships lie still,
Covered in a forest of seaweeds greenery.
Corrosion steel hauls ripped wide open, lay against ancient
Wooden beams from vessels voyages, of long ages distant past.
Faded names, render no clues reference, for the maritime detective.
But tragedies lost vessels, did ride upon the frothy foam,
And spray above, sailing the big blues timeless tides.
Nay Poseidon's toll ti’s payed in sailors flesh, melting
Humanities dreams beneath his drowning waves.
Beauties fare, and proud are they, the crippled,
Swallowed whole by the aquatic storms avenging rage.
Mercy's mere-angels weep thus, for the mortal souls lost,
Guiding them towards their spiritual resting place below,
And welcoming them unto their fathers kingdom beneath,
The abysses darkening depths.
Torn asunder is mankind's well hued craft, shattered
Into bits pieces, large to small, a glittering shards
Rain of destruction. crashing into the muddy bottom,
Of the under belly of the sea itself.
Deaf are the silent cry's of men, whom leave only
Bubbles streaming upwards, as their last epitaphs
Tribute for thy existence.
The devil's gardens, swim these black waters,
Turning them crimson red, sharp toothed monsters,
Feasting upon carrion discarded left overs.
Dark figures, phantom creatures, lurking just below,
The briny surface, awaiting for the Poseidon’s next victim,
To join the graveyard of ships.
Faded are their names, forgotten titles, as the paint
Peels, on the once majestic vessels.
Now they remain wreckage’s ruins, abandon to the
Mercy of erosion masterful hand of destruction.
Hear the sounding clanging of bells, whom ring in
Silences of troubled waters abode, it is the cracking
Of doom, beware thy young lad, he whom seeks fortunes
Favor abroad, for only fools test the might of the sea,
Against thy own grit and survive.
Thus thee shed a tear for the fallen, dear lad,
For no other will on the dead’s behalf, in thine
Cemetery of the graveyard of ships. no passages
Return tickets are given.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
SPIRITUAL-HISTORICAL
02-03-2914

Can you imagine how it would be?
I remember when I was young.
To dream and wonder what I'd become.
The girls that I liked.
Holiday happiness with joy and delight.
My future in front of me is all I could see.
Can you imagine how it would be?
All the things, I could not wait for.
To be 16, there was nothing I wanted more.
To learn to drive and be my own man.
The time passed so slowly, I could not understand.
It seemed to me that fate was being too mean.
Can you imagine how it would be?
All the things I could do when I turned 21.
I wished for that everyday, I wanted to be on my own.
Having fun and going to the bar.
Being on my own and it seemed so far.
On to college to earn my degree.
Can you imagine how it would be?
Finding a girl so sweet and in Love.
My emotion is high and I'm in search of.
What to do now, I just don't know.
I love her so much, I want to be her hero.
Then comes marriage and our baby you see.
Can you imagine how it would be?
Watching my children grow as they do.
Life has changed and more bills come due.
I've grown up and now have more responsibility.
Life isn't bad at all, just a different party.
Kids move on and far away from me.
Can you imagine how it would be?
I've taught kid all that I can.
Now I can watch my kid become a man.
The days grow longer and the nights are hard.
I can spend my days working in my yard.
Life seems so short and not lonely.
Can you imagine how it would be?
I found happiness in all of my life.
Not just my kid or my loving wife.
With all my work throughout the years.
Through all the good times and the tears.
The most important thing was my family.
Can you imagine how it would be?
I open my eyes to see the bright sky.
My dream has ended and I know just why.
Today is my birthday and I am ten.
It's all a dream thinking back then.
My future is in front of me and that's what I see.
Can you imagine how it would be?

The Hollywood hills still echoes with his
Rebellious yell, we are the forever young
Generation.
An iconic American symbol, to this the lost
Age of innocence.
Nay did this rebel die without a cause,
I think not, in my humble opinion, he
Died for his desire for speeds acceleration,
In death's ironic twist of fate, James Dean's
Name became immortalized as an epic tragedy,
Of youthful hearts seeking to be wild and free,
Without any consequences.
A teen idol who went out in a blaze of glory,
Revving His engine hell bound for destiny's,
Rock-n-roll Hall of Fame.
A nation wept in despair mourning for the
Loss of one so young and full of life.
Sorrows children cried in disbelief laying roses,
At his final resting place.
The jukeboxes remained silent with respects,
Reverence, and bikers gave him a rebel send off.
A generation whom believed they were bullet proof,
Realized how human life could be extinguished,
Within the flash point of on coming head lights.
James Dean's ashes were swept away swallowed,
Whole by time itself.
Now he's nothing but a tarnished star in histories,
Memorabilia case on display for all to see,
And remember, this the first easy rider.
JFK dream vision illusion of Camelot has faded to gray,
And Elvis now sings in a more heavenly chorus,
In the great beyond.
But before these man took the center stage, another
Walked the thin line of immortality's rebel fighting,
For a cause.
One lone figure rides into the night across freedoms,
Highway, and his name was James Dean.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Sisters of nature, gathered hand an hand,
Finger tip to finger tip, as the goblets
Are filled high, and thus passed
Amongst one another.
Nymphs of the evergreen wild, celebrating
The springs rebirth, listen to the drumming beat,
Of seasonal change, it plays in perfect harmony,
With the earth's eternal motion.
Graceful steps of eloquence, lightly placed
To the rhythmic under tones, a seductive
Enchanted spell, weaved with gestures
Exotic mischief, by promises unspoken
Implied meaning.
Teasing virgins of sacred beauty's
Renowned, unveiling each temptation
Hidden desire, yet it is nay unconquerable.
For these maiden's are the gypsies of
The mists, the untouchable, protected
By the Gods themselves.
Muses for inspiration, delicate spirits
Of pure joy, never knowing the heart
Aches of the mortal soul, regrets shadow
Lies beyond their realm, of this dance.
Forbidden fruits of a lustful harvest,
These the loveliest of pleasures maidens,
In a Grecian garden.
On the white topped peaks of the Gods,
A blessings bouquet is lain to feast, in
Honor such a magnificent vision to behold.
From above the deities toss golden bands,
To adorn these ladies wrists, and ankles,
A fitting tributes treasure to bestow, for
Such grace and elegance.
Hear the rustling winds blowing,
The echoing voices chanting,
Than feel do you not the silences
Stillness.
They've gone again, into the thinness,
Of air from which they came, these ancient
Spiritual phantoms of the past.
Until the seasons call unto them once more,
Come it is time to dance, gypsies of the mists.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Sandy grains
wash over and over
a discarded glass
bottle
leaving what is left
smooth as silk
to my fingertips
touch
like a childhood
memory
thought over and over
once more
and as I look
out into the unyielding
sea
I recall your promise
words
I recall, over and over
again
like the waves splashing my
tan feet upon the sands
for you are overdue
love
to return to me
as I kiss my love note
to you
and toss the bottle once
more
into the dark blue abyss
below
my coke bottle
promise
forever and only
yours
I do stay
honest

As time stood still in the presence of the King
Awaiting its order to commence
The King’s voice echoed throughout the universe
Silence ensued, loud and fierce!
The four winds ceased their stirrings
Planets froze in their stance
Blades of grass stood to attention
As time glided through its tubular channel
And began its appointed task
When a war raged in Heaven
A battle only Almighty God could win
The usurper was cast down towards earth
Brought slow, insiduous contamination
on an unimaginable scale and
Time remained forever tampered with
Now flowing backwards to begin anew
From the moment of birth, death comes stalking
Men lacking faith see wrong and call it right
And pride and ego brand minds and hearts
For the potent poison seeped through all
Every creature incredibly made would be tainted
For the author of sin now roams the earth
And peace since that moment, always eludes
Deception and illusions, endlessly, abound
Hatred and wars plague the seven continents
Families lie broken and the young despair
As our world unraveling spins out of control
Time will end when it arrives at its beginning
When the King will make all things anew
~*~

Note: Random imaginings....thoughts as to why nothing is as it should be.

Futility
my heart breathes its last breath
Embraces its own death
Ready to be reborn
and made anew
Can’t live a lie
Refuse to “do”
and I’ll DIE....
Focus now on why I’ll live
And never touch the sky.
I have to forget you
I have to reject you
But I will never love anyone
like I loved you.....
I heard you whisper
and you never knew it
I wiped the tears from your eyes
But you couldn’t feel it
You’re lost and you’ll never find you
And neither will I
And I’m so sorry--
but I’m NOT.
I'll attempt to reset
Try to forget
But you know, I never will.
Be my dirty little secret
My very worst-kept secret
Sweet, smooth, beautiful poison
My infernal and endless attraction
towards complete and utter self-destruction
I fell in love with the devil
And it will take one heck of an angel
To save me from the likes of you....
My addiction
my confusion
my nightmare
my dream never to come true
Oh, I’ll never forget the times
we never shared
I’ll never forget
how you were never there
Always me, the stars, and tears
And I ask you,
what kind of life is THAT?
I have to face the facts
I don’t know what happens now
but it happens without you.
The stains will always be there
the scars will never fade
But the memory of you----
it HAS to.
I could carry the torch forever
But it would only consume me
I can’t cry another tear for you
Or I’ll dry up completely
It doesn’t affect you
and you never deserved me
You’ll go on with your life, too
All, all alone
Because you’ll only ever be in love
with you.

Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail

The late morning light glazes the lake,
pierces, with stems and stalks of lily and reed.
Shadows freeze like lashes upon the limpid surface
of still water fracturing the sky-blue to black.
Iris of earthen orb, brush back the unruly screen of vision,
rub the cinders from night's lingering trace,
awake from the mire of silted dream.
Let the wind, your laggard lover,
rise a frolicking and remove each lash
with the gentle touch of fingertip.

I take a first step after you go.
Then find it hard to move alone.
I walk in every memories where you belong.
But couldn't see the shadow of your soul.
Inside the train or in a bus.
I wish you're sitting beside me.
But in a glimpse, you lost like a wind.
I was left alone suspending my tears.
Thinking of the days we laugh together.
While exchanging kisses 'til we partways.
But those were just part of a dream.
That I still hold until then.
I hope one day, our crossroads will meet.
To hold you once again,
To feel you breathe.
To kiss your nose down to your lips.
To keep you warmth in my embrace.
To burn my soul with your caress.
Today, I'll take the steps all alone.
Holding the hand of your ghost.

Greu has turned the color of my plarn
So I’ll just knit a legock for my child.
While getting up I trip upon my hornicorn
It makes me ridast through my small famoom.
My son comes in and loosh at my folly,
He’s sure his mom has gone a bit crazoo.
Then glares at me delivering his snark,
By asking which of us is the matune.
Greu, plarn and snark from list
My words:
Scroup: scrambled-soup
Legock: legging-sock
Ridast: ride-fast
Famoom: family-room
Loosh: looked-shocked
Crazoo: crazy- cuckoo
Matune: mature-one
Other: Hornicorn: horse-unicorn
Brenda Meier-Hans
27.08.2014
HM

In the land of the rising sun, lies a sacred garden,
It has but one care taker, a maiden of mystery,
Hidden beneath a mask of ivory white,
And dressed In beautiful silken robes.
Tall pillars shine, beneath the dawn's first rays
Of light, kneeling in prayer, a beautiful ancient
Mistress gives thanks, for another days worth of life.
Appeased by her eternal devotion, heaven sends a
Gentle rain shower of crimson cherry blossoms
From above.
Blessing this child of tradition, a rare Japanese rose,
Grows here behind earthen temple walls, built thick,
In these oriental gardens.
So delicate a flower is she, in each qualities
Perfection lies a singular petal, tenderly.
Shinning in brilliance golden light.
Admiration's ancestors smile, with honors pride,
To behold thus creature of opulence’s graceful
Design, purities magnificent porcelain angel,
Known as the Geisha.
Enchantment's seductress, casting mysteries
Spell of the forbidden orient, upon the
Unsuspecting out landers.
With each exotic motion's movement,
She the seducer, weaves a magical spell of
Enchantment, until this stranger, completely
Falls under passions web of intrigue.
In isolation's paradise many souls are
As prisoners of loves captivity, within this garden,
Of greatest beauty and harmony.
At sunsets melting into the distant horizon,
A haunting melody is played, and sung,
It is the Geisha's lullaby, a soft whispers,
Good night to the sun, and welcoming the
Lord of the night, to peacefully enter, her sacred
Gardens enchanted realm.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Forgotten you
As your mind collects the memories of yesterday
Forgotten You
Epiphanies tie into knotty strings of realization
That very moment. . .
You merely exist
Back then. . .those smiles
Those. . .distant laughs
Some you remember by name
Gone now maybe
Like the exhalation of the wind
Others dispersed in the world of arbitrary happening
Like leaves from falling, man-made trees
There is no doubt that they have
Forgotten you
Activate the bomb
Ignite the fuse
And you’re on next year’s history book
Never forgotten
But drained of all remaining good
That smile you gave
That happiness
The warm embrace so long ago
Salt-coated with piles of rubbish
Over last remaining mental spurts of comfort
Evil, evil, evil, evil, EVIL. . .
Always absorbed and remembered
. . .though never forgiven. . .
All good and gracious sentiments
Packed up in a box set nonchalantly in Downstair’s storage
. . .that chair with the broken leg in the corner of the room
That mangled cobweb holding a dangling, lifeless spider
A drowned sailor’s hat drifting through the current of the ocean
The single tear from a soldier’s vigilant, memory-stricken eye
The frustrating thoughts of a mute
The unchanged. . .HATED deformations
Forgotten you. . .
One soul brings to light weary, unthought-of happenings
Wedged deep into what she can only imagine
With not even a hint of understanding
. . .of the pain. . . .of the bewildering distortions
Of the ugly. . .
One soul merely vomits sickly verse after verse
As humanity embraces its downfall
The poet hangs onto her unjustifiable, forgotten. . .
Words

*Another oldie, yet not as ancient as the last one; I sometimes wonder if I should have
stayed like this...then I read myself and say "...I'm evolving, it is ok"; enjoy please =)*
Your garden just choked
And the desert from nowhere rose
You sailed into the kingdom
Built out of tears that love
Loners sail in cursed boats
Cursed boats don’t marry a cloud
Clouds send comfort in rain
Rain…not available for now
The wind is just silent
No sunrise or sunset in sight
Black tears, polluted pearls
They are pure poison
Avoid temptation or kiss Death
Shadows rise in the horizon
Dancing melodies build a path
Into my humble dominions
Come in
Be in peace
Learn about love, from a poetic sea
Remembered by a forgotten coast
They bring you to me
A former tulip, married to a rose
I’m the old man from the lighthouse
Broken souls, invited you are
Whenever bad memories turn into mist
Come and feed from my light

...A poem
is a spoon
that you can bend
with your mind.
It depends on psi
if you
are mutant
X or Y
a paranormal opportunity
or a wild talent
of psionic penmanship .
Stare at the pattern
on the handle
as you imagine
the handle
either roses or unicorns
are emblazon here.
So much the better
as your mind
bends the words
and the metal obeys...
Spoon begins to tremble
there is no knife
to run away with.
Then comes
the period
like an empty plate.
to contain
a bent spoon
with squeezed letters...

She bounced right off the inkling
. . . . . . . . . golden rings and tinker bells winking
on tiny toes zzzzzzzzinging
through the galaxies spinning
. . . . . . . . . aglitter aflicker ~ her heart
atwist amidst anticipating ...
on Halley’s comet tail she flew
. . . . . . . . . in the genius of a snowflake parade
in search ... in search
. . . . . of something he once said
to the atmosphere on a cloudy
. . . . . . . . . day
over rooftops flurried in December snow
in a glance of her cosmic smile,
. . . . . . . . . she ... perched on the cusp of an eighth of a moon
sang songs of fields of poppies soon
budding beneath the snow,
. . . . . . . . . and she opened her tiny fists and let go her angel dust
upon the world
and the earth shimmered in many colors
and gave praise
. . . . . . . . . and the angels came and fetched her up ~
and He smiled.
x

love have everything upon this earth
that live and breathe this quiet place
why do we question her
let it be the voice of reason known
that shelters all of us
let hearts surrender to this quest nor
do we walk away from this love and happiness
yet lovers fall in love to quinch their thirst
oh love have everything upon this earth

The steady pull
of temptation--
a tease on
my resolution.
When I can sleep,
I take what dreams
afford me.
In these dreams,
my 'noxide comes
to ward me.
Her smoke is an invitation.
my conscience
falls for
the con science
of my imagination.
I give in
and reality spins.
Between the sleeps,
I lie in sanity.
I wonder:
Did I give into
my humanity?
did I'd err?
Is that
smoke in the air?

our hearts were once joined,
now apart the degrees
of separation are burning,
my wounds are weeping
there is no other day
judgment came yesterday
Autumn leaves began their journey
as my night was laid to rest
the walls started falling down
scattering the Rose of Sharon
a bed of flowers to die in
a place to lay my weary head
I can no longer go walkabout
black smoke is streaming
a signal, all is not well
there is only one reality, now
tomorrow has yet to come
yesterday is already history
I must savor these last
moments, sucking in each drop
in desperation I prayed for hope
for the will to fight again
but also for the strength to let go
my fingers slowly lost their grip
creeping my purchase crumbled
sinking ever deeper
becoming an automaton
I am going through the motions
watching the lights extinguish
along with my last grain of sanity
the cloudy waters of my heart
dream poems, writing of the light
I can surf the stars once again
the lip curls, it is folding my heart
and creasing my mind
sanity has fled on golden wings
as sleeves of soul sway in the breeze

what
truly
does exist?
is there any proof?
do we hope to discover,
anything beyond what we think we can see?
in the end we are figments of imagination
without imagination this entire world will fall to pieces!
none of us will ever know because we never really were here, or were we?
Suzette Prime:
Prime number & Philosophy contest
i used increasing prime numbers to explore and challenge my own thinking.
every line is prime including contest name.

Snow sprinkles the ground
as delicate as sugar
crystallizing the exterior with a romantic heritage
only found in the heart of a child's imagination.
Like happiness it can melt in your hands,
and like happiness it can grow bitter like the ice you slip on
Forming miraculously to the curves of the earth
hugging till the land soaks in it's providence
white like the pages I battle with
Falling so passionately you'd think it was falling in love with the ground
And when it lands,
A blanket of perfection
glistening the season to a crisp
gently the sun arises
"there's no where to go today,
I'm just going to sit and enjoy the magic."

THE WAY HE LOOKED AT ME
The way he looked at me?
No particular expression
Strange dude
Strange only because of surroundings
We’d spoken before
A few words
Can’t recall what about
But now just now
The way he looked at me?
At me but right through me
One of those nebulous stares
Could have meant anything
That look?
Almost collegiate
Certainly with a collegiate air
Well how dare he!
I do recall how he walked about
Rarely a smile
He seemed to fit into the throng as though somehow towering
Somehow aloof
At a time like this one examines self – all the social graces –
Coming up with glaring negative respectabilities
How ridiculous these momentary speculations
Yet?
The way he looked at me?
I would rather have had words

Chain smoke until
I'm in care of the CO.
There's one left, still.
I smoke it really slow.
"It's the end," I anticipate
As the last inch evaporates.
I can't get
Over it;
It's over before
I know it.
Butt, I can't quit.
I'm possessed with this
Obsession; I'm addicted.
My lungs have oxygen,
Yet I'm suffocating inside.
I can't breathe again
Without my 'noxide.

your velvety blossoms
slowly withers away
once tender roots
have now decayed
at the thought i cringe
such insidious disease
gradually infects
each and every leaf
moldy black spots
crinkled stained edges
your magnificent growth
gradually suppresses
your unsurpassed beauty
now fuzzed up and gray
crinkled debilated stems
a dull distorted array
shoots barely opened
leaves now curled and bent
such unforgettable moment
your petals soon descend
your spicy scent has drifted
such sickly brittle vein
Flowers now discolored
and left to thrive on pain
after months of nurturing
your once marvelous display
the thought of you slowly wilting
has left me in dismay
*My theme is taken from Constance's Poem "in Memory of a rose"*

The brother In - Law Part I
A long time ago, there lived a young couple.
They were very much in love. About a year after
they got married - they had their first child. It was
a lovely baby boy. They named him Christian. He
was loved from the start. The father worked hard
in the field and the mother in the house.
Five years went by and the wife told the husband
that she was expecting another child. The husband was
overjoyed. He told his wife - I hope it's a girl this time.
The day finally came and a daughter did arrive. She was
named Christine. She was beautiful and a gift from God.
Christine was loved from the beginning. They were all very
happy. Life in the farm was good. The parents saw their
kids growing up. They all worked very hard to keep the
place going. Little did they know that destiny would
change their lives.
The parents were very proud of their children. Christine
was going to be fifteen years old. On her Birthday - her
parents gave her a big party. She wore a beautiful dress
that made her look like a princess.
Two days after her Birthday, Christian had to go to town.
He invited Christine to go with him. she accepted and the
left very early. It would take them most of the day. While
they were in town doing their errands, back home the mother
and father were doing their chores, when some outlaws came,
robbed them, killed them and burned their home.
When Christian and Christine returned - they could not believe
what they saw. nothing was left. They both cried a lot. Christain
burried their parents. They both prayed and said good bye...

I have led the tunnels
Depth of shadows
The shivers of dread
I can reach the lights and zenith
I have lost you
The things I did wrong
And those I failed to do
I will find love aright
I have found difference
In both the locus –
And its spatial might
I know the way of bridges
I am now so naked
Temptations and broken will
All have indeed sinned
I – by God – will make saint
Our sun is hotter
The ice melting, oceans rising
The earth is ill, her healing
In changing the world!

Broken fruit stacked forward, with
their tender lip-soft skins
scuffed among her unspoiled sisters.
Lonely is the unripe peach
hoping to be chosen,
turning her sun side out, beckoning,
longing to be washed and tasted, and
not knowing of her immature bitterness.
They always reach back
for the fresh loaf of bread
at the back of the shelf.
its not the same for fruit.

Oh in the mirror world, she dances on a stag all her own,
A reflected ballerina, stepping ever lightly in the shaded
Silhouettes of yesterday, twin figures of elegance, neither
Realizing that they are one in the same, identity thieves.
Beguiling the shimmering images standing in illusions rippling
Glass, touch each other, yet they are the untouchables double.
Blissfully the maiden trips the light fantastic, as inspirations long
Lost muse, hidden beneath self-doubt and pains anguish, the opposite
Refuses to except that these two reflections of inspiration are one in the same.
Dearest Lady of wisdom's clarity let the clear waters of clarification flow, as
A soft streams miracle in faith’s river conjoins at the mighty delta’s edge.
In the framed rippling pools of frozen pains separation, it is the liquid
Of realism that combines thee, defines thee and unites thee as one whole
Being let these two timeless dancers of inspiration merge as one whole.
Beauty does wait in inspirations chamber to be set free, embrace her
And allow your wings of the imagination to soar again amongst the heights.
Beyond celled barriers of your past mistakes, for they do not define the artist,
The future of this mistress of poetic artistry, must waltz in sync with her spiritual
Kindred, whom dwells beyond the looking glass, in the realm of wonderland.
Oh sweet Alice just place your fingertips upon the thy side, reach through the
Tides of separation let the waves of truth wash over thee, and with tenderness
She’ll grasp at thy inner soul, softly uniting these torn images of the lost, as one
Dancer waltzing, in unisons divine musical tune, in harmonious rheum.
The breeze of life is a timeless unique spiritual adventure, each paths step must
Be experienced alone by the traveler, through the harshness of the winds of
Destiny we must walk alone, yet behind us are others waiting to help thee along,
But few realize this practice of faith’s devotion, for within each single step taken,
Another walks and his is the miracle of our salvation, and preservation.
Let the rock of truth shatter the glass of resistance, for dearest child of inspiration,
You are not alone to pick of the pieces of these shards remains, for we feel the
Sting of your crystal tear drops , and are willing to help wipe them asunder, with
Loving wings of friendship, always.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
FOR LINDA THE POET DESTROYER MAY THIS POEM MAKE HER DANCE ONCE MORE.

Dreams and memories of what could have been,The past means nothing to me
and then everything at the same time.
It's made me who I am, and i'm glad I know but if I could change the past would I be so
quick to do so? I want to have it all but the future never whispers not even a little bit
I want to know it's secrets.
I am left in the dark about what and where I will be the future no tears that promise
pain so I don't know if I will get hurt.
It's just that I can't help thinking about you and how different I would probably be if
you knew that one secret that I held so close to me for so long that when it was time it
was too late.
I may spend eternity looking for someone exactly like you, it's because my conscience
will never let me forget how good a person you were.
I was so deep into you that i'd lose myself in the moment and I have never felt that way
before and I don't know if I will feel it again.
Just waking every morning knowing that I would get to see you again, Oh it
was such a feeling and now I can't even remember how it felt.
Searching for that guy again with my whole heart and my whole soul... even if it turned
out bitter I just wish I could know.
I hate living in regret, I hate living in my head.
It's filled with empty promises and dreams that are so far away I can't even feel them.
I want to touch, this time i'm not afraid if only you could appear one day then maybe I
would get my second chance.
Reality is so much better than anything I could pretend
so when the time comes I will jump into that mystery guys arms and fly free for that
moment.

what a sunrise!
what a day!
God in front
to take all good deed people
all in line for god to select
I alone was left behind
unhappy unsatisfied i asked
"why not me?
i help i donate
never i asked for your help
never i cheated to top
never i wanted partiality
never i wanted to be selected
never i was unsatisfied
never i asked anything from you
never i was furious
never i had ill thoughts
never i wanted to harm others
i wanted happiness all around
always i loved beings
then why not me?
why why and why?"
god politely replied
"see flash back
you proved all things said wrong
you want heaven from me
you want me to be partial
you are furious
you want to be selected
you are unsatisfied.
this was a test for heaven
which all had given
proving wrong but trying hard
you are proved wrong for this time
so i keep you on earth for a noble cause
the one you did
spreading HAPPINESS
live life without want"
suddenly god disappeared
leaving me with a new view of life
so i will try try try
vrushani thaker

Sitting here in my apartment
listening to the Mets game on the radio
Looking out my window
seeing the lights from a
nearby building
How many lives are being
acted out
Here in the vast metropolis
How many romances, how many
dreams
Are taking place behind
the lights
Imagination can go only so far
Reality can out pace it anytime
City Dwellers feel the
excitement(and the angst)
which the asphalt
homeland is famous for
Life is a funny thing
Our concerns are a small
thing in the vastness
of the cosmos
But millions of city lives
create indelible patterns
Which become the soul
of the city
The young, the old, the male, the female
all participate
In the dance of the
masses
This dance of civilization
Which continues
despite sorrow and regret
This dance cof urban life
revives the many hope-filled
dwellersw
In the concrete
canyons of New York City
l

The Brother In- Law Part II
christine asked Christian - what are we going to do now?
Christian answered - I will take care of you. I will leave you
in a safe place, while I go look for fortune. They left in the
wagon they had and went back to town. Christian found
a Convent and he talked to the Mother Superior.
He told her what had happened and asked if he could leave
his sister there, while he went to look for a new life for him and
her. The Mother Superior said yes - that they would take care
of her.
Christian left and went far away. He was twenty years old.
he was young and very handsome. he soon found a job and
worked very hard. After ten years, he became very rich. He had
a car, a home, nice clothes and money. He said to himself - now
I'll go and get my sister.
He started his journey back. When he got to the Convent, the
Mother Superior did not recongized him. He told her who he was
and why he was there. She told him - I'm sorry - she can not go
with you. He asked why? She said - because she got married
last week.
He wanted to know - who the hack, she got married to. The Mother
Superior said - she got married to JESUS. She took the vows last
week. He turned around and looked at JESUS and said - I couldn't
have picked a better Brother In - Law myself.
He went back to the place where his parents had lived and everything
was reconstructed, only better and with a bigger house. He soon found
a girl and and got married too. He went back to the convent and donated
a lot of money to help them out. Everyone was happy. His sister and him
would always stay very close. The end....

04/24/2013 Written by
Lucilla M. Carrillo
A story/poem that I hope
you enjoyed.

Thundering down Olympus
Treads Ares
The battle master
Ashen
Piceous clad
Against midnights cloak
Returning human spirit
To the heavens
For upon drowning
Within his crimson gaze
Do we understand
That in faith
Lies divinity
Note: In Greek mythology Ares is the God of War.

there once was a flying monkey who didn't know what to eat. so he ate the old scraggly poop hanging from his butthole. His friends thought he was weird but i didnt. i do that all the time. it tastes good.

his smile mesmerized her
her scent intoxicated him
his eyes hypnotized her
her touch magnetized him..
precious moments linger...
passionately
divinely
sensually
his strong hands caressed her
her flowing hair tickled him
his sweet kisses captivated her
her playfulness enticed him
purely
safely
freely
precious moments linger...
his tenderness showered her
her dewy glow bathed him
his legs entwined with hers
her legs entwined with his..
precious moments linger...
for eternally they are...
his and hers.

Coming to his hometown, he began teaching the people
in their synagogue, and they were amazed.
"Where did this man get this wisdom and these miraculous
powers?" they asked. "Isn't this the carpenter's son?”
matthew 13:54-55
**************
O, Wood, you warm me like mother’s fresh bread or my late father’s laughter,
Though your weight near splinters my back, how soft you seem! Supplicant,
lumber, I’ve missed your grain, your revelations in beams, my gift of croft.
We carry each other, newly sacrificed timber and I, man’s crucified half brother,
What could you have become under my hand with the rise and fall of a hammer,
A table to hold wine and fruit, a bench to comfort aging bones, strong shutters
to keep out bitter winds or perhaps roof planks for a home filled with children?
Soon, soon, my blood will become your stain, forgive this lamb his slow slaughter,
For prophesy has roots that run wider than yours ever were or could be.
Did your ancestor’s grow in Eden, stretch branches in sinless lands, now hidden?
Your stillness is welcome and very well understood, but you are but a pliant tree,
Innocent of all, unable to prevent the passion, and only you will feel the clamor
of my heart, taste my sweat, take my tears, be shadowed by hate as it smothers
the Son of God, only you and no other. Rest now, cross, stay silent and slumber,
THis I know, you’ll stand firm as Heaven thunders, and hear the infernal din
of my grieving kin and Mary Magdalene cursing your heart. Guards will ignore
your fouled remains and yet, I promise you, one day you will be a symbol of hope,
A cherished sign of eternity; man will kneel before you in remembrance of me.
* I mean no heresay here. I have had this poem in me for years, and struggled with its release, afraid that what I was trying to voice and the final version would be worlds apart. Though, I am not completely happy with this write, it at least captured my intent, or at least I hope it did :-)

Ink.
Black as both the crow and the cat that Edgar Allen Poe wrote of.
Ink.
More meaningful than you might think.
Words penetrate our hearts and minds, but
ink does both and sinks deep within and between the pages, binding, and lines.
Ink.
Dark and mysterious.
Yet clear and concise.
Ink.
Hurtful, yet helpful.
A never failing flicker of light.
Ink.
A tool, a hobby, the hearts design
A love, a passion, a joy and a show of affection, rejoicing, celebration and of all that is mentioned and more combined.
Ink.
Man's gift, man's privilege, man's pot of knowledge and gold.
Ink.
Both for the young, the aging, and the old.
Ink.
A device to say both hello and goodbye.
A way to rejoice, sound sorrow, or joy.
A way to say I love you, to someone for whom which you care.
A way for them to say the same, six words of miscomprehended compare.
Ink.
A way to convey feeling, to record history and time.
A way to teach us, knowledge that we may not else find.
Ink.
Forever it stays.
Black as night and yet light as day.
Ink.
Our greatest invention, always it must stay.

The man with the plastic bug in his head
monopolized my dreams last night
in the place that the horsefly of my dignity
finally surrender to the impresario without a fight.
Seven days and 7 hours transplanted in my memorabilia
reminding the rustiness of the purple child
flatterers danced beneath the clouds of melancholy
and morality spreader the master plan inside my mind.
The disinheritance of my immortality the final day
discouraged my desire to see the forbidden love
restored my will to escape
manipulated the deep of the uncertainty above.
Released from the plastic bug in my head
try to cover my yellow child in the purple sky
laughing,singing,whispering,playing
seven days and seven hours before he dies.

In those unconscious moments
When midnight sweeps in on you
Surrounded by a sweet contempt
Offering the taste of cool dark water
With essences of serene moonlight
Desires fruit peaked and ripened
Hangs just over you waiting
You reach out only to realize
Within those few feet to desire
Eternity lies in wait for its prey
Leaving only a silvery and pallid
Reflection that undulates and drips
From the touch of your fingers

Fuchsia panels
Standing parallel, like soldiers standing to attention
Push them forward, and venture onward
Like a woodpecker pecked cloth spread across the atmosphere
A permeable shelter of green does cover the cobble below
The darks and the lights of the jades and the emeralds
Add shimmer and flatness to this world of calm
Suspended from somewhere, someplace above
Hang scattered hues of violet
Almost candy floss like
Breaking up and breaking through the veil of green
Clusters of red also
Climbing up, up
Reaching towards the skies
Though forever trapped within their own dwelling
Observe, the kaleidoscope of colours
.............................................
And then, once more, the fuchsia panels
Standing parallel, like soldiers standing to attention
Push them forward - and leave behind…

I have flown on wings of dreams, but I never could land well
I've never been to the end of a rainbow and I've never talked to an angel
I could never reach the fleeing horizons and I could never catch the wind
I have never caressed a sliver of moonlight until it touched your skin
When I first saw the beauty of your silhouette standing before the sun
I was the pilot of a new dream landing in your love
Then my tears reflected colors of a rainbow and I could talk to God
I could finally reach the horizons as you woke up in my arms
And I dont care where the winds blow as long as I'm with you
We could float into forever where Delphinus stars may bloom
Where time is never the difference between nights and days
We could cast our shadows from moonlight as we let our hands play
Plucking beautiful flowers from heaven until the end of times
Planting new celestial gardens beyond our endless skies

the one whose beauty I treasure the most
Brittle and dark her love no one knows
As if under a spell that does not go
She makes an appearance every year
Sometimes early or later
This is the time I hold dear
All who see her are halted in awe
She is beautiful but not yet mine
I don’t want her to ever leave
I will love her until the end of time

Women come and go in my dreams,
Young, not so young and quite young,
But the trouble is,
They are formless,
Tempting, enticing, seductive.
The dreams make it difficult,
To see their eyes, teeth and lips,
What colour is their skin,
What size is their bosom.
They look at me
With the alluring-eyes
But I know quite well
They are there with their guiles.
Still I try to reach them
With my arms to environ.
They try to stop me with tight fists
But ready to receive me inside.
+++
July 31, 2005
Form: Free verse

Image if one will, a field where paper roses grow,
Each color an emotion, it's variations symbolic to
Feeling felt, and yet expressed.
Compositions of love letters, shaped into delicate
Blossoms, growing or dieing within the fragile human
Heart.
A unique species of floral design, enchanting the
Raw essences of it's creator, with a mystical fragrance
All it's own.
Passions spice crimson red, romantic sensuality
A white splicing with reds undertow.
Blues calming peaceful shades of hew,
and a navy's hardened edge exposing devotions
Everlasting love in beauty's open petals of the divine.
A golden sunflower opens wide, a visions friendship flower,
Seeds cast to the fertile soil beneath the kindred of humanity.
Compassion's evergreen bouquet,
So many multitudes of description,
It is impossible to describe all,
For change is the one constant rhythm
Of life itself.
Death's black rose, a crumbling love letter that melts away,
A disintegration of thoughts emotion unto the river of dust.
Not completely forgotten,
Living only by memory's remembrances,
Of past echoes,
Left alive in shadows contrasting shades faded by time.
Fragile is the human heart, made of crystal glass,
Shattering easily to the touch, if handled to roughly.
But even more delicate are the emotions held within,
A prism of reflections.
It's light leads to the inner garden of the spiritual soul,
Where the paper roses do grow.
Imaginations field of wonders, thoughts glorious
Bouquet of possibilities to draw from.
A limitless expressive well, for the poet's ink pen,
Lightly dripped onto the empty page of white,
To write upon, vivid are these roses to the poetic heart.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

The black river mills are seen in the distance
The red skies show spiraling, gray clouds
The earth is man’s canvas
And the mills slowly mix the paint
We have seen the devastation
We have felt the desperation
Some of us wallow in our watercolor
And leave the canvas blank
The mills crush their bones to the bottom
Mixing them nicely into the paint
People are pushed in without thought
Others go in willingly
The river mills are closer to my view
And my brush is stiff and unused
Women and children walk alongside the rivers
The elderly follow and sometimes shake their heads
On a cliff, I watch them all
My brushstroke stiff and worthless
Shakily I climb down the precarious cliff
Brush in hand
Canvas in view
Watching people suffer in the paint of their mistakes
People wanting to be part of the picture
I never desired this. . .
I wanted to create a masterpiece
The women and children are gone
—except one
I see a little black boy standing alone
He is watching me curiously
Tears in his eyes
He is a watcher
He was born to suffer
He never desired this either
“I’m sorry.”
The boy smiles sadly and takes my hand
“It’s okay. I understand.”
I shed digital tears
And program some control
It is quiet, save for the sound of the river mills
It has mixed well
The colors are astounding
“Are you sure you want to stay?”
The boy nods.
“No one wants me mixed with them.”
He is a creator
He is a watcher
I dip my brush into the churning waters
I then hand it to the little black boy
“The world is your canvas now. . .” I whisper.
It was NEVER mine to meddle with. . .
And we are set apart for a reason
But together we are incomparable

It waits...
A prickle about to lodge
In the heart of a Mighty Light
Above the low-dipped setting sun
The Knightly Night prepares to come
To lift me like a rising fog
Up to greet the countless stars -
That twinkle at a Sun's descent.
The horizon painted with lullaby
Of colours and their somber tune
Day's bed is laid behind blue mountains
And quietly it goes to sleep.
Inside the womb of a Sleeping Day
Begins a fierce protest
of dreaming thoughts
Now stirred awake.
Then out of the thick and cluster
And whatever dangers of flight await
Newborn wings of thought emerge
And rise and rise and rise
Captured by the winds of Night -
Arisen
To wander heights
To kiss the skies
To dance to the gentle humming
Of spirit drums -
Wings beating
A duet with the breeze.
So when day comes breaking through
Dawn is greeted by what was writ
At the festival of it's eve.
With merriment's ink:
A Kiss;
A dance;
A song etched deep:
Art carved out of sky.
Title: Night Poem

Victorian white lace, ivory fair of face,
Lips as red, the rose bud does grow, and is
Cut's deeply by it's own thorns.
Graceful maiden, beauties sheer elegance,
Of olden years past, weep ye no more.
Within the golden looking glass, she dances,
To a yearling's lullaby forgotten.
A lone figure in a solitary waltz, gliding,
Stepping ever so lightly, no sound is made,
Except for the beating of ones own heart.
A ghostly image, held hostage in time,
Frozen within a glass prison of pain,
Is this the lady of white.
Clouds of powder, set against a blue hued,
Sky above, is heaven so far away, to her touch.
A faded Porcelain doll, is she with eyes
Devoid of life, yet alive.
Hands do smack against the glass, but it is
A jail cell, the intent purpose, to hold
Hostage, what remains within.
This door barred shut, has no key, or release,
Time's measurement, lies in rhythm, a ticking
Clock set, on perpetual motion.
Sorrow's tears melt into nothingness, her
Spirit bound to linger in a hollow image,
Emotions haunting loveliness, a broken
Soul of despair.
Will no guardian angel, wrap her beneath
Their wings of pity's warmth, nay even justices
Avenging, shall not dare to enter within.
Shattered crystal shards, burst forth, and memory
Fades to blackness, a white sheet covers the mirror,
And no light is shone, in this world of illusion.
Victorian white lace, ivory fare of face,
Lips as red, as the rose bud that grows,
And is cut deeply by it's own thorns.
Petals plucked by the forlorn, lead some
Down a path that should not be traveled,
Beware the lonely heart, follow nay the
Sweet voices echoing within the nights
Darkness.

Where did the role of soul leave?
Blind in directions, lost in destination
Escaped amid to the extraneous crowds
As if gone shattered like the whisper of dusk
Peace of mind seemed to be fade and mortal
Like a starlight with less of hope
There was no love, no sorrow
Everything placed as ghosts
Will it able to question
If you hold all the answers
Will it able to survive
If you bury all of your sides
Confusion...
Mind occupied....
The uncertainty rule the roost
Thirst caressing for longing
Wondering for the cure, arrested in anxiety

Through them one can see an ocean.
Her ocean.
It's there beyond.
Beyond the stars.
The stars in her eyes.
Upon her sea there are no boats.
If you wade too far, there is no hope
of rescue.
Still where her beaches are,
there's warm soft sand.
For her to walk.
Peaceful and calm.
Save the gentle breeze tickling her arm.
Save the calls of the sea gulls.
She holds some wet stones
cupped
in her left hand.
Shiny and sparkling.
But, not
always
beautiful.
Not always smooth
and soothing
to touch.
She contemplates each in turn.
Her collection.
Then
she gazes out upon the ocean and above it to the stars.
The stars beyond.
And so,
they are reflected there.
Forever reflected there
in her eyes.

It’s in the air thick and strong
Doesn’t mellow in your defeat
You notice the space of smell
Something you cannot dispel
Down your back breathing ascends
You're defenseless, it tries to break in
The attack is this design
An avoidance you try to plan
But, up it creeps from your toes, on and on it goes
Your spine shivers from what is behind
Or just trying to get into your mind.
Holly P. Moore
October 12, 2012
"Whats Your Fear" Contest Entry

I dedicate this poem to you,
The one who I used to call "friend",
"Best friend", or maybe even "sister".
Yes, you meant that much to me,
And I thought I meant as much to you.
No, maybe not as much, but at least a "best friend".
Did I ask for too much?
Was that too selfish of a request?
I thought that we'd be best friends forever,
I really did.
But I guess it was all just a fantasy,
A fragment of my imagination.
After all, reality is a much harsher place.
I think I only realized that after you walked away;
After you walked away and never looked back
And left me in a deep, dark pit of torment,
Wondering why you'd changed.
If I'd done something different, would you still be the same?
Of all the people beside me, I never would have guessed that
You would be the one to leave me like this.
And as I watched from a mile away,
How well off you seemeed without me,
I fell into a sea of depression.
For the longest time,
I felt so lonely,
Questioning myself whether anyone truly needed me.
Or was I only just second choice?
Now, as I am writing this poem,
I cannot say that I have been completely healed.
I still feel the doubt, the uncertainty,
When someone says
"I love you"
Or
"You are my best friend"
Even when I know that it is all in my head.
But I think I can say with confidence that
I have become stronger,
Even if just a little bit,
Even though sometimes
I still miss you.

A ballon filled with air of opportunities
Blown by the wind of uncertainties
Grab it with care.
A two faced coin of passion
Tossed by hand of situations
Accept bopth sides with patience and smile.
A play sealed with suspence
Eeaturing joys and sorrows
Watch it with passion.
A game filled with tricks and mists
With coded rules and sealed instructions
Play it with wisdom.
A race filled with pains and pleasure
On a track so wide and narrow
Run it with focus.

The light aglow does shine, within the wagon train,
Many voices sing, to the tambourine's enchanted beat,
Playing along the fire warmth, of their encampment.
All together their rations share, with one another, breaking
Bread with an evening prayer, over warm cider, to keep the
Nights chill away.
These are the lost people, searching for a homeland beyond
The horizons hidden path.
Can you hear the echoing sounds, of the cricking wagon wheels,
Or the wind chimes, blowing in the timeless mountain breeze.
The last wagon is the smallest, it contains a precious prize,
Of the Gypsies,
She is the magi woman, the heart of her people.
Fragile and bent with the curl hand of age, yet wise beyond
Her years on earth, a wondrous creature at one with nature.
Many winters passage have her eyes seen,
And felt the springs warming breath against
The raw flesh has she experienced.
Blessings birthing, and sorrows burials, has this
Lone woman been present for, the tribes
Precious Magi, named Mystic Rose.
Lean does she, against a willow staff,
Walking generations ancestral path,
Remembering a cultural heritage, past
Down by mother unto daughter.
Within this living monument of memories,
Beats the heart of a wondering people,
Whom have cried an ocean of tears,
Yet do they not realize they are freedoms
Children, knowing a liberation beyond
Pains and suffrage ultimate dream, to be
Free without boundaries limitations.
But she knows, the Mystic Rose Magi,
So see guides them along the well hidden
Venues, to the valleys evergreen, keeping
Them safe from apprehensions heavy yoke.
For they are the gypsies tribes and she
Is their precious gift the sacred Magi,
Named the Mystic Rose.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Amuse... In a world of splendor, I want to share thoughts.
To capture others with a creative voice
To embrace emotions as a writing tool
To ruminate another’s introspection
I am just a muse.
I want to be your best friend.
I want to enable you to write again.
Within the universe, are beautiful landscapes to provide stories to contemplate.
Why not ponder romantically and write about the love you found in Greece.
Be your reason to fulfill your dreams.
I am just a muse.
Think please.
The multitude
In famine
Poverty stricken
Economic disparity
Just topics to theme
I am just a muse meditating ideas.
~Be My Reason Free Poetry Contest Entry~
~Entry Date: March 06, 2014~
~Motif: Muse~

You say im happy,
you say my life is perfect,
you say im so lucky.
But you dont know,
you dont see,
im drowning in the sea,
im struggling to breathe,
Im struggling to survive,
I cant go on, its just to much,
surrounded by the tears,
the pain,
the fears.
I want to escape this sea,
of dying dreams.
I want to be happy,
live life to the fullest.
I need your touch.
Your love,
your heart,
i need you.
I need you to save me,
get me out of the sea,
keep me from drowning,
and not break my heart.
I need to keep going.
I cant give up.
I have much more life to go.
I cant give up yet.
But you just dont know, how much pain, and suffering i go through, to survive the
day.
You say im happy,
You say my life is perfect,
But dont you see, me drowning in the sea?
Im not happy, im not perfect, my life sucks.
I cant do anything right, im not perfect
Im just flowing down this river of crushed dreams.
I have my hopes and dreams,
but to live your life, knowing they will never come true,
is pain, and suffer.
You dont know, you donw know what its like to be me,
or whats its like to drown in the sea,
or flow down the river of crushed dreams,
You just dont know,
what its like, to be me.

Walk everywhere. Go on long sea voyages;
Ask for days like symphonies of slow music,
banks of blue flowers to wrap you in the moment.
Become immersed in watching clouds
spiders building their webs.
Travel by the slowest modes of transport.
Ride a camel, camp out in the desert.
Move into a museum and declare it real time.
Dress in a crinoline. Decorate your room with
fossils. Read endless books- make your own wine .
Churn your own butter. Grow a garden.
When all else fails,
pull the hands off clocks. Declare it a crime to tell
time.
Hang curtains on the daylight. Hold back the sea.
Ruin the sun and cycles that turn,
annihilate the moon - close the doors on eternity.
Suzanne Delaney

I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.

wind always knows
it limitation
as it writes its swirling
scripts upon threadbare roof.
lamentations for the
fields of empty prairies
as the dry leaves rustle
in strings of grass…
i do not know
my boundaries
the geographical shapes
of my darkness
for life
has been left empty
with only a puppy
of narrowness
to feed
scraps of plain verse too
how the tail wagged for years
as empty …
i light candles
like images on the window
of my smile
for the sputter of light
is much more reassuring
than the breathless darkness.
i recite my own alphabets
that i have
hidden in the mysteries of my throat
and marvel as the moonlight passes
through the simple words
the trellises of upper
and lower case
shades i have formed
with my craftless hands
and letters
speak upon the glass
of outside
like frost
for i have found my true words
and they fit my squalor
with a strength of calmness
for darkness cannot
abide in smallness
so it leaves me
as the darkest raven
ever imagined…

Imagination
a force to
be reckoned with
when considering
the human condition
Who doesn't have fantasies?
Stardom, erotic fantasies
athletic, political fantasies
capture the minds
of the multitude
The mind needs to
escape the dull work - a - day world
and lead the inhabitants of this earth
to flights of fancy
The stars are like
little time bombs
which can explode like Roman Candles
if you consider them
carefully enough
The mind of man
is still an uncharted ocean
where the poets, painters,
musicians and writers
can paint
with glorious strokes of fantasy
"Perchance to dream" as the bard has it
Let us praise the dreamers
Let us praise the ability to fantasize
We are glorious shards
of a star which
shattered
many millennium ago

If the lovely breeze had a name
we could drift together as two dandelion wishes
floating wanton on foamy winds.
If the river were rolling, gently
we could slide in and swim
for hours, without rushing
and love is like that.
Love is like still water
standing so deep in a vessel
yet so easily broken upon the smallest of stones;
scattered, and yet-
from this another river begins
(as you begin)
How lovely if you had a name
I would call out to you
and I would hear your reply as
the wind blowing, the water rushing
and not your echoes
as you trickled across so many small, jagged stones

HELLO ; my voice faintly echoes back Hello
Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?
I stare into the thick ebony chilly mist
Seeing nothing but the dance of Satan's Demons
Grotesque, disfigured lost souls living in their created darkness
Hell's home for all of mankinds lost sinners
As ghastly faces of the past and present pass through me
The haggard grim eyes of my youth pierce my black Heart
This sleleton of a endless Eternity embraces my soul
Come fly with me in the emptiness of Forever
Watch as you vacuously become a leader among us
We applaud how well you carry the sins of your life
You are a distinguished minion of all that is Evil
Grab Your heavy iron chains of sin and ascend to Your throne
I awake in my bed , in my cabin , my soul intact--- November 1
Happy Halloween to all my Soup Family

The Polynesian pearl of the Northern Pacific,
A glittering paradise gleaming in brilliance,
Set float amongst the oceans clear waters.
A beautiful jewel reflecting in the different
Shades of aquatic blues.
The winds of peace blew in this tropical
Nirvana, until the ruler of the far east,
Thrust down his mighty fist of power,
Against the foreign invaders.
From the land of the rising sun, did
The red dragon awakens, blazing with a
Fires smoke, scaring a nations flag,
For generations to come.
It's scared wings as silent as a
Tiger, stalking in a thickets tall grass,
Of disbelief, it pounced without warning.
The American flag did spread out in
Protection, over top a sleeping harbor,
Lulled into a dreaming state of world peace.
As the eagle did lie at rest, the sons
Of the red dragon struck, at it's farthest
Point edge of it's nest.
Setting it's kindling to burn and sink,
Beneath the waters, of histories swift
Currents.
The bird of freedoms liberation, now
Alert defends it's territory's, by talons
Claws, and sharpened beaks bite.
Driving the dragons brewed backwards,
And reclaiming it's rightful perch, on
The stage of destiny.
But the pearl lies tarnished and broken,
Cracked forever this once Eden, never to
To be a child of innocence again.
Only a white momentum stands to mark
It's loss, she weeps the Polynesian princess,
For what has been done can never be undone.
A pearl necklaces of peace, torn apart by two
Titan's nations hatred, now it is nothing but
A broken strand and she is a prisoner,
Caught In the choke hold, of power between
The two of them.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Sunset,
One of nature's most brilliant
display of colors.
The time before darkness
when the sky has lost the sun
but has yet to find the stars.
When the sky becomes
God's canvas freely painted with
brush strokes of yellow red and gold.
As the brilliant light of day
begins to fade into the night,
the sun relaxes and prepares
to sleep knowing darkness waits.

One fine day as I was traversing the green,
in the last throes of Autumns' twilight.
I sat upon a flat stone,
overlooking a trilling brook,
to ponder the meaning of life.
As I sat ,and thought,
the soft chimes of music,
from the water spirits,
lulled me into a dream state.
Some where in that liquid crystal,
stubborn stones are worn smooth,
by the passage of time.
Elsewhere the fluidous mercury,
rushes toward a cleft ,
a water fall.
Bringing forth melodies,
never to be reproduced ,
by mere human hands.
As my lids grow heavy,
I'm awakened by the flash of silver,
denizens ,
silhouetted by the last rays of the setting sun..
With regret its time to leave,
as I turn to go ,
a misty rainbow is captured ,
by the fading beams of light.
I smile, at peace,
the promise ,
the sun will once again ,
eclipse the horizon.

I turned on the water sprinkler under the Weeping Willow
A fine stream it did spray
The tree was lacking the nourishment that it gets from water
For it has not rained much in many days
As I was working in my kitchen and viewing the scene
Along came a male Red Cardinal
On a rose bush he did preen
Just close enough to the water to receive a fine spray
When he was water coated, he flew away
Up into the Weeping Willow and puffed his feathers out
Shook his tiny body as a dog after taking a bath
Then he sat in the Weeping Willow and rested for a spell
Before he had time to dry, a Black Bird
Landed on a Weeping Willow limb
Just close enough to the spray to get his shower today
Very intelligent these birds of the yard
Knowing how to refresh and clean their feathers
Sometimes I wonder if they are not more intelligent
Than some of the humans that have big brains
And fancy hair....
(I'll call it free verse for no other reason than I don't know where else it would fit.)

The Goliath reaches deep underground,
grabbing a hand full of coal
Crushing the black rock in his huge maw,
polishing it to gleaming diamonds.
Flinging the treasure into the ebon sky.
So at night we can look heavenward,
and enjoy a million stars
in a midnight sky.

Look at me
I am the life in a wasteland
Look at me
I am the slavery through the ages
Look at me
I am the mirror of the world
Look at me
I am the illusion I’ve fought for
Look at me
I’m still loving you
and I keep being here
for you, for me,
and for what’s worth breathing

Complete darkness
No sound at all
This is where you live
No one to talk to
The blackness, engulfing
Smothering the air out of you
In this vast void with lack of light
You are forced to believe
That you see a speck
A tiny green light
Way off in the distance
This blot of light brings so much hope
So many desires
You can hardly breath
Suddenly the light grows larger
You feel elated
Then FLASH
Complete darkness
No sound at all
Things are back
To the way they will always be

I saw the sun shine today,
it rises and sets on my love.
Last night I saw the moons face,
it slumbers awaiting ,
the morn.
Awaiting the light ,
to shine on the face,
of my angel.
Just as the moon chases,
the sun,
my heart beats for her love.
I can't imagine a day,
in which the sun rises,
without her light.
She is the glue,
that holds my world together.
She is the ,
rising of the sun ,
and the promise of tomorrow ,
which is my life........
my being.
To Liz My Love

Like Sally I sense tragedy’s at hand
For this heart can only sew so much
Until all string is used to the last strand
Hanging dolls staring at my lonesome self
I wish I was more than what they see
If only they’d welcome me on their shelf
My porcelain skin would win over all
Inanimate beings look alive at my face
As I let my angriest plastic tear fall
I can’t be SxTxIxTxCxHxExD this time. . .
I can’t be displayed. . .
I can’t remove the grime
I’ve become the doll
And we all sense the worst
A happy ending for them all
And when they finally welcome me to their shelf
It is empty and caked with dust
Leaving me staring. . . at MxYxSxExLxF
Like Sally I sensed tragedy at hand
But unlike her, that’s how I stay
I stay. I stay. I stay.
SxTxOxP. . .
IxT IxS SxTxAxRxIxNxG AxGxAxIxN. . .
SxHxE WxOxNxT LxExT MxE SxLxExExP
SxHxE HxAxTxExS MxE. . .

Part I – The Journey of Reminiscence
How often have I traversed
The lonely depths of my soul? It seems
Near an eternity since I’ve
Felt something…real
Perhaps everything is truly gone,
Perhaps I am the one that ceased to exist…
I do not know… Can anyone ever truly know?
I remember … Light
I remember … Joy
I remember … Anger
I remember … Might
I remember … Innocence
I remember … Love
I remember … Angels
But wait… I see something…
Is it really there?
Could it possibly be …?
Light …
O Cruel Fate! Why must this be?
Such pain in losing one’s existence does
One face, but why must I face it
Ever so endlessly?
My mind retreats to old times – my past
Such infantile ignorance I lived in…
Is this any better though?
Perhaps…
This vast nothingness that
Overwhelms me sheds but a single ray of light…
Light burns…
Purge me…
Purge me…
Purge me…
Part II – Torments of the Soul
Lament not for my darkest rest for it
Is not as it may seem…
Forever in this darkness I dream…
I dream of all that is good
I dream of all that is wicked
I dream of all that was
And all that ever will be…
I remember the Moon
I remember the Abyss
I remember the Night
I remember the Dreams
I remember the Years
A blind man in a dark room
An insight of forlorn grief
Will I ever truly see light?
What is light? What is dark?
Can I remember? Have I forgotten?
What is this in my palm? Such warmth…
It tingles with such spirited joy…
It is not fading…
It is getting stronger…
Or am I fading?
Perhaps…
Perhaps…
Perhaps…

I try not to read
other people's stuff,
too much.
Cause when I do,
I'm left with
this disquieting feeling
that it's all been said,
and much better.
That's why I hate
that damned Bukowski
so much.
For days after
I am derivative
and imitative.
I can't live with him.
I can't live without him,
and I drive him out the door,
and his overdue books are taken
back to the library and paid for
with a vengence.
But if I can just keep tromping
across this poetic veldt,
recklessly mixing metaphors
and crushing sentences underhoof
like some adolescent rhino,
I might, in my innocence
of what is proper,
find a clearing by a gentle pool,
where no one's been before,
and I will sink to my knees
in the mud,
drink deeply of waters
that have never been described,
breathe deeply the scent of flowers,
that no one knows,
and I will tell you about it,
and you will come

Come on artists
lets play a game
its all different to me and i want you to see how i am different
and let me shine as you sign up another way
as i prove to you my leadership of this new age wave
cards cards
give them new meanings
like you never knew you could
and lets make the psychics pine through our words to figure out
what they are reading and believing
I wanna see your hearts and spades
dressed in tall grass or lemonaide
i wanna see your cups and wands
inbetween whispering winds and songs lead me there
i know you can come on
come on
come on be strong
like a suit of clubs or diamonds
show me something
and then sprinkle your writings
and we'll make collectors out of all those we invite here
as they read and ponder the meanings of our literature
whats in your hand?
a royal flush a pair?
and as we deal the cards they stumble upon at this endless game
of cribbage or poker
or tarock
or war who is winning and getting points?
what card means what to who and why
tell me artist as you write with your style on low and high
what makes what suit smile and fade shine and slide?
inside outside sphere of influence
be their collective the object of the psychics to crave?
blind leading the blind
and something they are after for days and days
a few cards your favorite cards play smart or dumb
shuffle the cards pick a game deal a hand
reveal what your playing and one day i'll tell you what we're playing what your
cards mean
if nothing
to someone one day when the stumble your way
the mystery of nothing speaks something
and we rebuild the puzzle of cartomancy better and better this way
just inspire
once you know you can't
blind leadin gthe blind
so after you read this you can't
play along your uninvited
strike it off your list of things to do
round one is over now go find all who wrote
all who write all who have wriitten the masterpieces
of cards and see what they mean today and collect them for that is something no
one else can do
until round two....

Candle Whispers
Moths and other creatures
find peril in hovering
especially above seductive candle flame
Yet
We sentient beings
hover not
instead
keep vigil over imagined messages
awaiting the magic
the comfort of vision
As we stare
Buried passions
encouraged by flame
make sacrificial
the walls of insulation
while our fortressed barriers
forfeit protection
dissolving resistance
becoming a river of liquefied defense
We wonder
Is the flame but deception
entrapment
subtle weaponry
seducing the innocent
destroying the gullible
Or
Is it pure light
ignitable by will
extinguishable by nature
its essence of imagination
weaving a ribbon of warmth
among the unlit kindling of love
For just as the cynical enemy
bounces its cold shadows of hurt
restlessly about the wall
waving its determinant position
one's heart beats echoes of defiance
Such are the candle's iconic images
empowering the ether of life
ever simple
ever flexible
even as its waxen folds
melt into mounds of spent energy
awaiting recycled resurrection
Darkness questions
But if we listen
Flame's inner glow whispers its promise to return

Blue rainbow in the sky
It is such a beautiful day
In this colorful rainbow
you can see all the colors
blue and white and green and red
so yellowy, kind of...
So, the sky you wrote
So, the sky you blew
Blue sky, you heavens, blue.

I imagine a universe without god
What a powerful man !
I imagine a world without man
What a lovely place !
I imagine a country without politicians
What a peaceful land !
I imagine daily trade without businessmen
What a simple life !
I imagine a way of life without machines
What a romantic life !
I imagine a day without women
What a quiet day of rest !
But when I imagine my own self without you
Who I am then …

Onward, tumbling,
graceful and discarding
the mirage of life.
Propagating pinnacles
and particles freed by the
warmth of oceanic wind.
Fixed, frigid, by crisp
artic breath.
The infinite ascension,
the transformation
torrents of blue porcelain fall.
A glued tongue to the childlike
icicle of Winter.

Let our passion travel
As the speed of light;
Allow the snow to lick
Our bodies and freeze
Ecstasy.
Devour this mystery
Which time is unable to
Debase, where dreams are
As jeweled clocks.
Your truth
Lies within
The freedom of
My castle walls.

Where are you today
My Illusive Butterfly
Fluttering around
Among beautiful flowers
Amid fluffy billowy clouds
Or perched on a
Dainty stem of primrose
Or a nearby limb
Of a mighty Oak
Looking out at the world
Through the multi eyes of
My Illusive Butterfly

She seemed restless
Their gilded cage of love
That she had begged him
To imprison her in
With the bars of his passion
Seemed to be confining now
She never said anything
But he knew…
She felt different to his touch
He saw those wistful glances
Past the bars to the outside
And his heart bled
So he unlocked the door
But left it shut
Watching if the latch
Would show tell-tale signs
If the door would give away
Any secret whisper
Of an attempt to escape
His love
Days passed and there
Was no sign
No whisper
And yet…
At nights
Long after he pretended
That their love making
Had satisfied his hunger
He lay there quietly
Still hungry
For all that she was not giving him
Her soul
He heard her sighs of discontent
Long after he thought sleep had claimed her
And in the dark of that night
He prayed for strength
To carry it through
Every night
For next few days
He left the door just a little more open
Than it was before
Wondering….
If she would notice
If she would break free
He was risking his life
He knew it…
But he would not keep her
Against her will
He was not that kind of man
And she would not ask to leave
She was not that kind of woman
On the third night
He saw her eyes fix
On the half open door
A curious mix of wonder
And perplexity
Played on her face
He quickly turned away
Bur he felt the question
Lingering in the air
The sheer longing in her eyes
Burning in his mind
That night
She was on fire
Her love a blaze of passion
She responded to his every touch
Electrified
Energized
Feeding off his desires
Giving
Asking
Pleading
Screaming
Satiating him
Beyond imagination
She pleased him
In every way he had ever
Imagined
Had desired
And it was all he could do
To wait until
He knew she was ready
To reach that place
Where intensity rules
And everything else
Is subjugated
They were now fused together
No beginning and no end
As wave after wave of
Of pulsating ecstasy
Engulfed them
He slept then
Satisfied
Content
His premonitions buried
In the world of dreams
Until a stray ray of light
Fell across his face
And he opened his eyes
To find himself…. Alone
Alone
She had flown
And left a single feather
To remind him
Of her angelic form
Continuation in Part II

through a tiny lens
held firmly with hands
eyes gaze in awe..
with a simple twist
colours explode harmoniously
bright, sparkling,blinding..
the colours are stunning
so vivid, so alive
with truth as in life..
this ever changing vision
is but broken glass shards
not whole, not complete..
simple, plain, tiny pieces
they don't fit, they don't belong
different shades, different sizes..
fragmented, swirling on command
no direction,they stop; at one's touch
and through this seemingly disconnect..
therin lies their beauty
for these tiny glistening pieces
imperfect jewel tone shades, dance; together..
revealing the essence of life,
humanity and all who breathe
for they gloriously join; naturally..
to inspire joy, excitement, wonderment
the green piece could be a used wine bottle
tiny violet piece from a castaway vase..
regardless of their origin
these magnificant, illuminating pieces
unite as one and magically dance..
with truth as in life
beauty is as beauty does
fusing together, naturally, effortlessly..
kaleidoscope..
broken shards now glistening jewels
the spirit of every man, woman and child
is part of this most magical creation..
for every size, shape and gorgeous hue
is us; in every race, age & size
coming together, to create, to inspire..
tunnel vision seamlessly vanishes
as eyes are opened; captivated
at the wonderment, joy and harmony of..
becoming one; beautifully and with faith..
kaleidoscope.

How sweet the sound of raging sea!
Long has peace reigned so devoted,
But has it thought of wicked treachery?
Nay, it had never plotted retribution!
Be that as it may,
I, the goddess of the deep,
Utter these very words of incantation
To suppress the fury that curses my veins!
May the vicious wind kiss the sky,
As rain pours down with shattered glass.
Let waves of thunder lacerate merciless boulders.
If confusion withers the depths of tranquility,
So let it be!

Mardi Gras
Ever since the flames licked
my fair pink burning flesh,
nothing in my life has remained the same.
I had to go back in to
save my little brother Chris.
Life without him would kill me,
besides myself I would forever blame.
Even though it’s been ten years,
my face still feels the pain.
Having to go through high school
with a scarred face is just lame.
I’ve got the body of a goddess;
I must admit I’m beautiful from the neck down,
but the hideous burn scars
on my face have remained.
Months after the accident
weeks before school started,
a knock at my door came.
An anonymous donor sent a box
full of beautifully hand decorated
Mardi Gras masks made for only the fairest lady,
that’s the day I got my new name.
Each month a new box of masks
would arrive and I would wear everyone.
I became known as the royal shapely, disfigured lady.
Mardi Gras was my fame.
One night a mysterious white box appeared,
inside rested the most unique and intricately
adorned mask of all. It was a pure white mask adorned
with a delicate French ivory lace, fluffy pure white
dove feathers and shiny white pearls outlined the mask.
White is normally considered lame
but this was breathtaking, nothing plain.
Inside the box was also an
invitation, asking me to attend
the prom with "Masked Bandit" Lane.
I couldn’t believe it! All along it was
my handsome next door neighbor and
Chris' best friend, who had been sending
the ornate masks to me. He was my hero now,
my enthusiasm could hardly be tamed..
Lane had always adored my brother Chris and seemed
to like me too. I always knew he had
a crush on me, but I never knew to what extent.
I rushed over to his house where he was playing
with my brother Chris a heated basketball game.
I hugged him and told him that
I would love to go with him to the prom.
Just between you and me,
Lane and I will always be the
masked King and Queen of Mardi Gras
and forever in love we will reign.

The house wears tight
and small like an old shoe
on a growing child’s foot.
Wanderlust invades in sandals.
Palm tree dreams scent the air
with coconut oil and jasmine.
The confinement ends with sleep.
The laces of reality snap.
Toes push forth into oceanic bliss
water rushing, embryonic fluid
balms the birth of dreams.
Barefoot rhapsody abides.

Step out from the shadows, step out
bravely bask in my borrowed light,
fill the night air with your hope
Sweetly sing to me your wishes of love,
of ill-fated hearts to find their soulmates,
alive from the abyss of despair...
and I'll tell you all is not lost
...Courageous, faithful soul

*** this has an accompanying poem, "whispered wishes"-- you can check it out at
http://poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=199757 thanks :)

Take my hand
Come with me
Cross over
To the darker side of my mind
The place where,
All my hatred hides
Show of strengths
Release from behind my eyes
War with the things
I know not to do
Kill all who stand in my way
As I lye down to awaken another day

The laughter of a thousand years,
The tears of a thousand waterfalls,
Converge and reflect,
Rainbows of seven colors,
Raining on a misty morning,
only puddles in the street,
You sit by a warm fire,
Guessing when the rain will stop,
Building daydreams as you look outside,
Everything will bloom soon,
Violets will grow,
Catching butterflies,
Watching them fly away,
Swimming in cool blue streams,
Feeling the suns' warmth,
The daydreams of a thousand years,
Combined in one as I look outside,
The rain drawing out my soul,
Until I feel empty watching you,
You seem far away,
A blank yet peaceful face,
The rainbow emerges,
Far beyond our full sight,
The rain stops,
You still sit,
Beside a warm fire,
Reflecting on daydreams,
Past.

Come out, I whisper, come out
peek softly from your veil of clouds,
grace the velveteen sky with your glow
Speak to me your tales of woe,
of lovesick souls in search of hearts,
lost in the labyrinth of desire...
then show me there is Hope
...Enchanted midnight moon

*** this has an accompanying poem, "Moon whispers back"-- you can check it out at
http://poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=199758 thanks :)

He walks into the room; a sly smile plays on his face.
His brown eyes show his desire, no other emotion on his face.
He comes to me, we are inches apart.
My breathing getting heavy, pounding is my heart.
He whispers softly in my ear, "Relax....trust me....have no fear."
His fingers gently brush my cheek.
His warmth breath on my neck making my legs weak.
Just when I can take no more,
He whispers again, "Your body is mine to explore."

Stars twinkling
at night, doth bring
warm, fetching
this surreal passion
of slithering feet
doing the quick step
in moon stroke music
Ah, the smell of
lemon rinds and touch
of wild jasmine
swirling, inside me, yet I’m
too timid, to voice out
like a canvass
left untouched, by a brush

Come and hear the song,
The song of the angels,
As the heavens open.
The split of the sky;
The cascading colors.
As the gates close,
Darkness falls over.
The darkness twinkles,
Twinkles with beautiful lights,
Now come hear the song,
The song of the night.
It sings out in a Capella voice.
Sway to the rhythm,
As you succumb to darkness.
The song plays on and on,
Until the morning fires blaze.

What's left but a cripple?
Angry and Sarcastic,
Weathered lips
Bitten bloody
In the cold
January Fix.
Entered in a
Plummeting
Dirtied Drunk Mix.
Tasting;
Leaves,
Wheat and sheaves,
Daughters of Eves,
Feasts for Kings,
And other things.
Wetted tongues on
Driftless streets.
Heated talk with
Patterned
Beats.
When what
Appears to lifeless
Is suddenly up for sale.

Just as each tender petal
Of the prettiest rose unfurls
Its fragrant silken form
I hold in my mind
A memory or thought
Of each tender moment
I have graciously shared with you
Just as each tender petal
Of the prettiest rose unfurls
Releasing its natural beauty
To an awe-inspired world
I hold in my heart
A love that grows evermore deeply
Despite thinking I’ve given my all
Just as each tender petal
Of the prettiest rose unfurls
Till it blooms in radiant glory
I give you everything I am
Protect you and cherish you
Knowing I am the luckiest
Most blessed person in the world
Just as each tender petal
Of the prettiest rose unfurls
After which blooms wither and fall away
I remember how much you
Need to know daily you’re cherished
By someone who loves you more
Than words can ever express
You are as each tender petal
Of the prettiest rose unfurls
My love my life my future

"come fluttering words, come drifting words to me . . . a Rambling Poet."
The rising sun, shone into her room
takes a moment, to gather her thoughts
gowns her morning attire with pride
moves into her garden,astonishing nature
Song birds and Sky Larks, fill her ears with music
the morning air, so pure into her lungs
last nights proposal, from her childhood sweetheart
dwelling but, knowing what her answer will be
Life feeling exhilerating, future so bright
as the perfumed rose plant, poised on her sill
her futre holds happiness,children, how many ?
her husband to be, awaits her response.
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest What is she thinking . .
Wounds by wayside.
P. Beadnall... 16/7/11

We are the dreamers
The seekers of truth
The protectors of passion
Innocence and youth
We are few among many
Our fire is strong
As the world disowns us
Where do we belong?
We fight for our values
As we struggle in vain
To hold up their world
We keep all their pain
We are the thinkers
With hope we are cursed
Unable to quench
This unyielding thirst
We believe we are searching
For such a great cause
For answers, for freedom
From their shallow flaws
We are the dreamers
The seekers of truth
The protectors of passion
Innocence and youth

The Jester puts on her smile,
Plastered to her make-up smeared face.
Bright lights blind her empty eyes.
She can see no one in the crowd.
Inside her mind,
She screams for release.
Twisting the head off her doll,
Blood runs down her cheeks.
Her hands gripped tightly around the neck of the doll,
She pulls as hard as she can.
No one’s around for miles;
They left her to die.
Smiles and laughs surround her,
Taunting her every move.
They tease and mock her,
Pointing out flaws.
How her hair sticks out;
How her tooth has a chip in it.
Her eyes go dark as she wishes them death.
Under her breath she curses.
They will never lead happy lives.
They will know what it’s like being a puppet.
Just a toy in a closet,
Thrown around like nothing.
She wants to rip them all apart,
Limb by limb till there’s nothing left.
In her mind she makes up stories.
Stories where she’s no longer the jester,
No longer do they laugh at her.
With bloodshot eyes,
She cranes her neck to the sky.
Her screams echo through the stadium,
Reverberating off the walls,
Bouncing back to her ears,
Killing everything in its path.
She falls to the ground in a puff of dirt.
When it clears,
The Jester is nowhere to be found.

A Magician never divulges his secrets
So how he managed to break my heart while already broken
I’ll never know
It was not viable,
Then again, any trick can be duplicated, if remembered correctly
Rewind, replay, on my mind
Was it a slight of the hand?
The flick of the wrist
Or the abandonment of all disregard
To society, to pride, and to us
In those caramel eyes
That hypnotized me
Into believing his illusions of love
Which left me awestruck
Doves and Roses
Hidden underneath sophisticated overcoats
“Baby, I’ll never do it again”
Pulling promises out of thin air
Magic, I suppose
Complicated locks and bolts
Flashy Velvet, sequins, and gold plated cages
Lead me to believe in mystery
Of Romance
To have faith in in miracles,
Even reformation, perhaps
Oh, but Baby you made a fool of me
Devoid of all machinery, intricate backstage knots
It was a simple trickery
Disloyalty, behind a locked door
That broke my heart

I do cry for you at night, baby, and I am frightened of this love, for the love you
make is to my mind;
i want to satisfy every fantasy; make it reality.
So much I see in you...
Brilliance.
Kindness.
Sensuality.
Creativity.
I run for fear of being burned again, and I cannot allow that...ever.
I'm enchanted, trapped in a spell of delusions because I am unable to touch
you...
taste you...
feel your warmth upon my neck...
feel your mouth on my dark, erect nipples.
Do you know how much you turn me on...? How much I want our tongues to
explore....? Everywhere.
So deep, go deeper into me, and
promise me forever.

Oh, the taste of sweet mangoes
While relaxing on a Caribbean beach.
Such a refreshing way to watch the sun
Setting on the blue and calm horizon.
This sweet mango is such an appetizer
Preparing the pallet for the main course.
Stimulating one’s stomach for a feast
With visions of the coming dish,
The main flavor of the day.
Oh, I like tasty mangoes
The setting sun, and
Caribbean beaches.

I'm just a kid, and life is a nightmare
I'm forced to be mature beyond my age
Using my writing as my therapy
Scrawling my thoughts across the page
Every couple days or so
a poem or two I write
I can't sleep while my thoughts process
So i scribble throughout the night
I give you all my thoughts and fears
this is the reason that i write
so that i can clear my head
giving me the strength i need to fight
In this book i write the things
that i cannot say to their face
but letting it all out on paper
helps me to keep my place
writing poems calms me down
and puts me back in control
I have been writing poems for a while no
since i was twelve years old
Writing puts things in perspective
shows me another point of view
it helps me work out what was done wrong
and shows me what i need to do
If you look closley at what I write
I think that you will find
That exposed on these many pages
is the darker side of my mind
Everything i feel, i write
my thoughts are a tangled mess
I write to clear my head and keep myself sane
thats why i'm a poetess

One day I will ask my friend
why He chose blue, for water
and sky, and why He chose green
for grass, brown for dirt and black
for night, pink for the sunset, and
yellow for the moon, sun, and stars.
But one day I will ask Him why He
chose them al, for the Rainbow!

PoetrySoup …
I Was Heartily Welcomed… As I Sat At Your Table
By: Carol, Sara, Carolyn, Dane Anne, Moses, and Abel
Tim, Leon, John, Michael, Jim and Yoni
Deborah, Krista, Adeleke and Charlie
… James, The (Two) Ruben(s) and (The Quik-Composer) Raul
… and Many, Many More, I Love to Hear At Dinner-Call !
The PoetrySoup …
… It Has Member – Mushrooms
Chew and Chat Lunchrooms
Delectable Hors d'oeuvre
Every Ear-Full… Heard
Every Mouthful… Taste
Spoonful of Gourmet Grace
Voila’ Words, Don’t Waste
Simmer-Slow and Baste’
In Dug-up, Sweet Potatoes
Ripe Food for Thought Tomatoes
And Onions, That Will Make You Cry
Artichokes and Lemons that Squeeze – ‘til You Die
Garlic and Oregano Are Just Some Suggestions
And Here’s Some Mint… for Your Digestion
Parsley to Parley and Jive-Chives, Just Keep Stirring
But There’s No Clam Chowder, Shrimp, or Herring
A Dash of This… A Dash of That Seasoning
A Pinch of That and Sprinkle This Reasoning…
On The Side with the Mustard and Relish, so Fresh
Are the Cucumber-Contest and Radish Requests
And I Can’t Forgo the Tongue-in-Cheek Puns…
Your Laughter is Passed Around, like Hot-Buttered Buns !
… Poets … Are Proverbial Peas In The Pod
The Harvesters of Herbs-Heard, in The Garden of God
so... Salt and Pepper to Your Superb Style
Did You Say Cheese, Please ?... ( Full Mouth Smile !)
There’s Hot Chicken Broth, When You Are Cold
Everybody Knows… Its Good For The Soul
And All That’s On The Human Menu… It’s In There !
… Even A Mother’s … Tenderized Care
Like Campbell’s Brand… Its Umm… Umm… Good !
The Aspire – Asparagus, I Took… I Understood
So, PoetrySoup’s Cupboard is Never Bare
And There Ain’t No Bones, No Medium, Just Rare
And On The Star-Burner… Is The Savory Meat
So… Grab A Heartbeat-Bowl… and Bona Petit’…
Yes, Thank You, PoetrySoup
(You’re Up There with MoonBee’s FruitLoops !)
It Has Been A Pleasure Getting To Know You All
Thru Your Beautiful Expressions, Coming Straight
From Your Warm and Welcoming Hearts
God Bless You......
MoonBee

Once when youth filled
my bones,
that was then.
All the cops and judges
started to look the same.
Back in the day,
pot was cheaper,
beer flowed,
acid was good,
pink tea was better
and cocaine was for rich folks.
A girl stole my heart,
we fell into one another
under a shooting star,
then we said, "we are".
Troubles still came and went.
Breaking parole didn't seem
all that bad !
Sitting in the bar till
close wasn't no big thing.
When I arrived home
the unhero of the day.
The door was chained
and dead bolted,
so in my anger
I kicked it in.
She was tripping
calling me a lair
and use racial slurs,
all high on those pills again.
All my stuff was trashed
and I took her punch,
like a man
without recourse.
I stole her keys,
like she stole my heart.
Then I showed myself
to the door smiling all the way.
Her custom Honda,
precious baby,
bright red with bright rims,
crashed and trashed so well.
Daddy's gift ain't shining anymore !
After that I was a sitting,
and a thinking in that bar again.
Hey, bartender bring another,
cause I'm going to get ten years.
Hey, Man take it easy, just go home
and pretend nothing happened.
All right,
I go on home,
its a lonely walk.
I force the door shut,
make my way through the mess,
get in bed with passed out
sleeping beauty.
Later after our daze has wore off,
we awake looking at one another,
she says,
I got messed up last night
while you were out
and left my Honda somewhere.
I smile and say,
Its ok we'll find it !

At
gray fabric offices,
cubicles divide us—
turn us into
refuges
with mock privacy,
as overheard conversations
drip from lips
endlessly smacking.
Sometimes
it seems insanity
squared—
nothingness
randomly speaking
in tongues
to cubicles
with no one there.
We
thumb tack
individuality
loosely
to coarse fabrics—
arms stretched out
from wall to wall,
as mouths open
to mirrored
silences
we never
scream.

Look to me I am symphony
An uninterrupted emotional tenor
Of variable nature wherein the scale
Of humanity’s opinion mill and linger
Compositions of blithe open mornings
Tempting to even the most candid spirit
Melodies that a moment of tranquility convey
Washed in the pellucid waters of divinity
These have given me a harmonic musing
Notes composing Mother Nature’s infinity
Rhythms of ecstasy from mankind's infusing
My quintessence of enduring harmonies
Yet the symphony passed to me this night
Lament in faltering the tempo of bullets
A motionless body lies before me
Oh God
The sable skies of night endure…

It beats, It flutters
Its strong, Its weak
It bleeds, It heals
It hungers, It feasts
It breaks, It mends
It suffers, It flourishes
Its warm, Its cold
It makes a stand, It shies away
Its hopeful, Its hopeless
It desires, It repels
It takes, It gives
Boundless or bound
Free or held down
The human spirit beats with a life whether known or unknown...

As I opened my eyes, I saw the sun shinging bright
I opened the silk curtains and I stood in the light
I reached outside and grabbed a cloud, then rode it to the sky
I took the waterfall back down, then I began to fly
On eagle's wings, I traveled light, like feathers in the wind
I fell into a chocolate lake, and swam with chocoalate dolphins
The crystal chore was made of snow as I approached the bank
Twas the city of Atlantis, which I thought the ocean drank
I crossed the tattered bridge of gold, onto the other side
As a cricket then approached, "Let your conscience be your guide."
Somehow I knew just where to go, my eyes led me the way
Onto a giant golden ship, with sails as bright as day
We slid across the city, as it was made from ice
I layed back in my swinging hammock, thinking,"this is nice."
Just then a fairy flew to me, announced, "Now all ashore."
So I got up and walked around, and through the golden door
I floated down the diamond ramp, onto the leafy stairs
Then climbed the treehouse branches, along with the three bears
I ate some pourage then said goodbye, and rode a star back to the sky
I tell you friend this is no lie, it happened just this very night
And if you don't believe it's true, imagination is my gift to you

Business is booming and there's no end in sight, Death came to a huge
decision tonight.
He called in his partners Pain and Sorrow and said "we're holding auditions
tomorrow."
"Auditions, Pain asked, what are you looking for?" For a third partner and he
reached for the door.
The very next morning hanging there on the wall, was a huge flyer
reading "DEATH'S OPEN CALL"
Come one come all but you better give your best audition, because we only need
to fill one position.
As the day moved along Sorrow watched in disbelief, next in the line was his old
buddy Grief.
Grief walked in and handed them his lengthy resume', thank you for coming
friend you'll know by the end of the day!
The auditions had been going on steady for hours, the decision would be tough,
they all had great powers.
Next in line would be Misery and he gave them his best, "Thank you for coming,
wait outside with the rest".
Death having some free time sat in on the last few, after over 1000 auditions it
was now time to choose.
Death left the decision up to Pain and Sorrow; they would just fill him in by
tomorrow.
All that he asked was they used their best discretion, when suddenly in walked
the vixen Depression.
With eyes dark as night dressed all in black, she walked to the stage and the pair
just sat back.
She said, "Am I too late for this open call? I just happened to notice the flyer on
the wall."
We'll give you a shot now show us what you can do; this is only because we've
both heard of you.
They told her to give it her best shot and that's just what she did, for her first
victim a sweet little kid.
His name was Billy he was only 13, she found him alone sitting out on a swing.
You see he had just lost his parents in a huge fire; to be with them again was his
only desire.
She climbed in his head and she did her thing, Billy took his life right there on the
swing.
"WOW" they exclaimed lady you are good, come with us now to see the "man with
the hood".
A new chapter has started with Death’s open call and it all started will a flyer on
the wall.
No longer a trio, now a quartet, a new force to be reckoned with this you can bet!

When did things change?
When did we stop imagining?
When we were young we believed in dragons, witches, gnomes and trolls
Nights were spent under a blanket
We read of princesses and heroes
In our mind we were there
We helped free the woman in danger
We slew the dragons
But we knew they would come back the next night
Always wanting another fight
Witches cast their spells on us
Somehow we knew that we changed
No one ever noticed, but we knew
That spell written in the book was meant for us
But in the morning we were the same.
We walked through the woods
Every bridge had creaks and groans
We knew that a troll was beneath waiting to jump
But we always made it to the other side
Safe for now, or at least until we walked home.
When did we lose that life?
When did we stop imagining?
Maybe it was part of growing up?
We don't want to think that Sleeping Beauty and Snow White may be real
Maybe, just maybe, we are their fairy tale.

She is generous , witty, intelligent too.
With the eyes of an angel,
I'm telling you.
She can walk into a room,
and the people will stare,
yes she has a charming air.
The aroma of her perfume,
that smells so sweet,
I adore this girl,
from her head to her feet.
Who is she, I will let you decide,
may be she, is all in my mind.

Sit and watch the thin, blank dawn
that never quite sweeps you off your feet.
Wrestle with memories that don't want to be suppressed,
and repress the urge to canon-ball into the ocean.
(sinking: sinking slowly, because you never learned how to swim.)
Listen to rainbows churning in oil-spill puddles,
and wait for the beautiful oblivion to take its toll.
Somewhere inside you know things will never be the same again,
but that's okay with you, sickening as it seems.
(you want to float away into seaweed forests and play fetch with the big, bad wolf.)
Dream of living a full, happy life
while you tear your world apart.
Sell your body to those dark, dank demons in your cerebrum,
whimpering and wondering deep into the night.
(praying for a chance to show your worth while you still exist.)
Sink low beneath the foaming sea,
wring out your hands and paint your thighs with scarlet letters.
Let the wolves lap the salmonella from your fingertips
and wrap yourself in red - lay face down in the snow, don't breathe too deeply:
(someone dances in snowflakes nearby.)
Watch the thin, blank dusk
that never quite sweeps you off your feet.
Wish for brazen arms and a warm crook of the neck to rest in.
Hug yourself beneath the covers and silently cry; you know now...
(no one wants to comfort a girl who craves suffering.)
You will never be what anyone wants.

In a shadow box, by the bed
another diorama took shape,
form, function
while she slept.
The whole house quiet with the ever tick tock.
Paper snow flakes in the process of falling
to a cardboard lake, frozen fast in brown fuzz and blue paint
Purple velvet ribbons in sweet white glue
an aurora borealis gone still
and two silver sequins
befitting two moons
blown in from her window sill
White tissue moths eating holes in the back
letting light in to the pin prick of stars
and deep in the corner,
the farthest flung corner
a secret on the dream lips to slip...
to be flown to the feather of whispers-

Lady fair...my fairmaiden
I picture you in your bedchamber
facing your vanity contemplating
the sad beauty,of raven locks
glinting emerald eyes,which cry
only within',as no tears are
to be seen on your self reflection
The knowing of your one true love
....uncertainty is his return
as you slowly brush out ebony curls
trying to smile in anticipation
thoughts as a deep well overflow
and flood your emotion filled heart
Fingers wrapped in spiraling forms
you begin to tug in pouty frustration
longing to be touched,to be desired
as your wanting fantasy screams
within' the confines of your mind
within' the self being reflected back
....only seen by you,only known to you
If only I could,my mind transcend
defy the universal law,and
rip apart the fabric of space
which veils as a seperator
disallowing a moments grace filled
wonder of your loving touch
to soothe eachothers burning will
but...alas,my lady fair
fore we must wait
time takes care of eveything
in due time......

A Gods Eye View of The World
Every form blends and fades
Persistent though
And meaningful
Below from top to bottom slides
Encompassed by
Itself
Describes a purpose
To shift from one to another
And never made less
Than the original
Veins and circulars entwined
Each led to destiny
Between crags and breezes
The formation
Forces of opposition
And tendrils equate
The indefatigable line of being
A mingled sea of light
Transposes through shadow
Arch and rock
Air indivisible
A vibrant salute continues
In a heraldry of birth
Festooned upon the relinquished
A sleeping crown
All appears dancing
A choreography of miniatures
And magnitude beyond thinking
Swift sent of consciousness
Awakened in a tide
Of gesture
And slow somnambulant time
Picks blades or petal
From hair or eye
Thus is its passing
A present unending momentum
Between the washing colour
Of an unseen spectrum
A fluid solidity of dust
On which inscribed imaginations
Pallet of brilliance
Careless even reckless
In its precision of chaos
The full monument of awareness
And spoken singular
Undivided
Unsullied
Stands between feet and sky
Between earth and star
An infinitesimal populace
Of essence and core
Scattered seeds individually planted
To witness
The realms of awe
( Thank you for this poem ).

Shapely and sturdy
with ridges
to explore..
The texture is
smooth
and lovingly
adored..
A priceless gift
which can
only be bestowed..
By a thought
a moment
of pure
heavenly bliss..
So with this key
that unlocks
for only a rare few..
May you find
upon entering
this..
sacred..
glorious..
place..
Your key
fits
perfectly..
In your
own
precious gate.

The snow capped mountain
Seems to rise up out of the azure lake
That is surrounded by a multitude
Unnumerable wildflowers of all hues
As I look at my reflection in the azure
Waters of the this beautiful lake
I see myself for who is reflected there
As God looks into my heart, he sees truth

Thoughts Promenade inside my head
Absent of composition or direction,
As water dollops on a heated griddle.
I pass time exhuming notions
Thought long ago perished.
From night filled crevices of my mother wit,
I examine ideas whose propellant
is as monster bat wings darting to and fro.
Free flying, suddenly vanishing,
As if having been exiled from my psyche.
Their duration, analogous to griddle dollops;
Once vaporization has occurred,
I'm left to contemplate these mental aerobics,
In selfish tones, while examining my worthiness
As God's humble quill this day.
Conceivably, those concepts I've pursued,
Will birth in ink another time.
A time of God's convenience and choosing.

The heat of summer makes her brain gelatin
The Arizona sun turns her into a skeleton
Time and space she does not put to waste
Really, this poet lady is one of great taste
Iced tea and lemonade in the Arizona sunlight
Create an atmosphere for her that’s just right
Ink just drying on her newly crafted poem
Always ready to rate on the pole of totem
Tall she stands with stature in poet's land
Only doing right waving her magic wand
Leading other poets to higher heights
Lovely readings are on her poetic site
Everyone should look in her poetic bag
What? Jill Martin, you are now tagged!
Comments: Okay Jill, I was tagged by Tamiviolet Manchas. As a result, I have to
pass the tag along. Your name is on the top of the list. Your poetry is just
wonderful! Now, you must find a poet whose poetry you enjoy reading, and tag
that poet with a poem. Man, this is so much fun! Chau!

Fair weather eye's
focused on the eastern horizon
occasional salty sea spray
followed by a chilly breeze .
A voyager , wandering adrift today's beyond
searching for better tomorrows
on life's ocean of emotions rolling wave's
At times , I feel like changing direction's
follow the sun to the west
go in circles to where it never set's
But then , would I be in a continous day dream
only capable of experiencing a singularity ??
Supposing the setting sun gives hope for another
opportunities abound whatever the weather
Even still , why has everything become so different
refraction apparently affecting others
their mind's " I " incapable of truth
tropism natural for most
eclipsing of the sun becoming an everyday event
What happened to the world I once knew ??

To wear a thong in public...
Not much chance of that...
Unless your the type...
That gets invited back...
For unlike the summer months...
What's there to show...
I myself...put it on the shelf...
As like most you know...
To thong in public...
That's a life time ago...
A little more to hide...
Even in summer time...
To wear a thong in public...
Not much chance of that...

How our flame seems to burn
like a wildfire on mountainside
only to become coursed by the wind
changing directions to begin again
All of nature from a distance
across the rivers bank
can only stand in awe
in view of our flaming fury
burning with every touch
melting each to the core
as fusing the finest ores
I am your wick to your lantern
you are my deepest resevoir
of limitless oil....
you are my infinite universe
unexplored spaces
which I can't ignore
my venusian heaven of love...
You are all that....and more

As happy melodies hum,
Underneath, the sounds of sadness come,
Provoking all the sorrow and fear,
That all hearts are forced to hear,
Looking at the glowing mirror,
Seeing the reflection of “Myself”
Shadow less, I stand,
Contemplating the solid glass, imagining “Me”
Hearing the terrified breaths of “Myself”
While inside, I am touching the joyful “Me”
That an eye no longer can see,
No sympathizing, no sympathy,
Through “Myself” I could feel my lonely soul,
Desolated from the incomprehensible world,
Surrounded by rhythms created by void,
That I hear “Myself” continuously sing,
My soul sees through “Me,”
Unleashing the pain, making freedom surround,
But “Myself” comes and interrupts,
My freedom and my soul begin to corrupt,
“Me,” someone that no longer lives,
Someone that tries to forgive, “Myself”
The person that took place,
The person living a life drenched with dimness,
“Me,” is gone,
“Me,” has disappeared into non existence,
My soul is surrounded by “Myself”
Cherishing “Me” by the colorful memories...

Clear below the sea
Clear beyond the sea
it fished across the pond.
You don't have to name it, but call it Ava Lu.
It is my kind, the shore is blue.
Happened this and happened that
It went over to shout the wind...

disappeared with the moment,
Regrets, Echoes, Confusion, Lust,
all sandwiched on white leaves with blue veins
coated with brownish crust.
i have my name on it,
lost, i cannot stand,
dizzy, hoping it escapes a cognoscenti hand.
The rythms, The rhymes, The stanzas, The lines
I cannot save money to buy,
'cos they came like from the sky.
sighs and tears soaked by the time.
I'm a forfeit mind...
but I wrote those lines...
blue, black, green and red,
on white pages spread. Awakening, I buried the 'i'
now awaiting the fumes of the sediment to bring I back to life.

It came with a flash upon my back
Caught off guard, suspenders hanging
Madly rushing to find a place so safe
From around the bend with a honk
“Hey watch your steps” was a shout
Horn blowing while in passing
One disgruntled taxi driver glaring
Newspaper umbrella in ruins
Noisy rumbling above from a subway
Heading down the track, clank, clank, clank
Brown dog barking, woof, woof, looking back
Shelter at last, finally found a spot
The rain came down with a heavy shout
Caught shirtless and without shoes
Now sipping coffee listening the blues
Feeling brand new tasting some stew

The morning mists falling from Snapdragon eyes
Standing on high peaks viewing the verve of diversity
Starlit nights viewing the galactic milieu painted above
The promise once made now viewed after the rainstorm…
In these moments I see the Almighty
The bellow of anguish in the tears of the children
A racking widow held up as she faces her spouse’s sepulcher
Victims calling to God in the smoldering ruins of a battle
Helpless and lost ones asleep on heating grates in December...
In these moments suffering is all too real
Arizona’s painted desert at the moment of dusk’s zenith
The Atlantics glass rolling waves on the shores of Cape Ann
My daughters absolute trust as she sleeps upon my chest
The Rocky Mountain winds hushing the Ponderosa Pines…
In these moments I sense true peace
When “I Love You” first looked at me with untainted eyes
The moment I heard my child’s voice for the first time
That first springtime morning awakened by soft Popinjay rhythm
The roar of the crowd during a spring training game…
In these moments I find the Joy of living
Searching my life I put these puzzle pieces together…
Only to find these moments define the man I’ve become

Soft, pink satin,
Baby blue with lace.
Underwear, underwear every place.
Hot red silk
Plain white cotton
Underwear here even I had forgotten.
Black and slinky,
Is that a thong?
Underwear like that almost seems wrong.
Blue with Purple polka dots
Roses scattered over lime.
Underwear like that could never, ever be mine!

If roses are red,if violets are blue
then why can't I touch the colors of you
If sugar is sweet,as your love is true
then why can't I taste your nectar of dew
If time means patience,good things who wait
then why do I feel as an anxious state
If the moon is silver,if the sun is gold
then somewhere inbetween,you I should hold
If the sky is blue,as the sea is too
then also as I,feelin' blue without you......

I was born in Amhurst Massachuetts
on Decenber 10 1830
and had died May 15 1886
My hair is bold like the chestnut burr
and my eyes like the sherry in the glass
that the guest leaves behind
I cannot write about the world without
first backing away from it and then
comtemplating it from a distance
A word is dead when it is said
Some say I say it just begins
To live that day
Who Am I ?
My Poetess Sweet
Emily Dickinson

Obviously, I am kissed
Once more by destiny
When clock touching
The summer moonlight night
Without pain
And, flatten the thought
By the buzzing bug
With a fiery lips, awaking
My lonesome blood
Into whacking as I fell
Into her breath
With its natural scent
Like Venus, the god
Wrapped my lonely body
By sweet loving hand
That I felt like
Lolly candy
Wanting…
To be licked
By you, again and again

We are the world which we create, our thoughts are many,
our ideas and actions are brought forward from our intent,
our concepts to progress only help in separating us from our selves further.
We are the masters of our own illusions and we are the victims to our own
devices creating our desires yet fooled by our own ego to perceive its realism.
We are more than what we appear to be but our concepts, perceptions and
beliefs play host to our own deceptions as we choose to fool others in turn we
fool ourselves and yet we are none the wiser.

Everyday he was there.
On his knees, standing, or kneeling
Gazing into the sun and the colors
He watched the road, the hay,
the horizon, and sometimes even me.
His eyes followed my bucket and me.
I felt, not uncomfortable, but
as if a passive madness were there
in that field, watching, always watching.
Once I stopped to say, "Hello."
He ignored me, standing erect,
absorbing the sun,
and gazing at the golden hay.
He was never in the same place.
Sometimes, he was near the road.
So close, I thought I could hear his breath,
his very thoughts as I passed,
thoughts I would never repeat.
The sound of the water sloshing
in my pail and his mind in rhythm.
Yesterday, he was lying in the middle of the field,
staring upward into the sun.
Motionless and still…
Today he was gone.
His absence left the field seemingly empty.
Yet… the haystacks and the scattered straw,
the sky, the sun itself
Brighter…Alive
Author notes:
Inspired by “Haystacks in Province,” by Vincent Van Gogh

The tear of my eye
Won’t come down anymore
After you died
I forgot faithfulness, love and destiny
Friendship among my life
I stayed in my room
So lonely I sat
My injured heart bleeds blood from inside
After you died
The sun won’t come up
The moon wont rise
After you died
The spot of light inside me was gone
After you died
There’s no one to talk to
No other side
The earth would cry
Waiting for you ….
My broken soul
Would prefer to die ……
After you died
The friend that was so faithful
Won’t come back to life
After you died
Misery, desperate, and anger
Were placed in I
After you died
There was no one to hold to
No one to help you fly
After you died
No one gave me a hand
No one showed me the path
That I had lost
From you
From you
No one told me that this would happen
No other plan
Where did you go
I’m lost without you
My feelings had left me
I had no other chance
Tell me
Where did u go?
After you died?

Time stopped, just for a moment
lovers crossed the inevitable line of ecstasy
indulging in ones fantasies
giving into the yearning desire,that burned so deep
basking in each others flowing rivers, turning the fresh lit
spark into an never ending blaze
no thoughts, no fears, no worries
suddenly, lightning strikes, the earth moved
and Time resumes
A cold front swept across the room
bringing forth an unwanted chill
not a word is spoken, their eyes never meet
for feeling of guilt and regret will be forever painted
on their faces
when the door opens, all innocence leaves
as the heart of the seed left behind bleeds
and a conscience returns holding one bound in solitude
wishing that time could rewind......

She kissed the kiln and fired her tongue
in sparks which lit the rhythm stream
and reeked of rancid gasoline
and the blue of honest fire
She danced in shoes of kerosene
her heels in flint, her soles in sheen
as barefoot she would always be
to tattoo the earth with toe prints
She missed the mark and shot the sun
(which swallowed the fire come undone)
and swept up ashes noon 'till night
with anklets of turquoise and jade
She riddled wars and froze the moon
In silence, she slept on pitch and ink
and gained momentum for her dance
on edges burnt risky with rhythm.

Rebuilding America
My little Jenny and me
Remembering a time
When Laurel And Hardy
Brought such classics to T.V
My Jenny asked mom can you see me
Just cruising home in a big jelopy
With my Feathered Friend Buddy
Perched on my shoulder and you Yelling
Smile Your On Candid Camera
That had to be such a Jungle Fever back then
Think I liked it better When you used to sing to me
That I'm A Big Girl Now
Just Putzing Around here
with my last 10 poems
But Love to watch
Old Classic comedies on T.V. with Jenny
And Trying To explain to her about Cinema

A poem including following words/phrases;
Nuclear waste
Baby food
Deodorant
Smiling Moon Face
Dog waste
Fortitude
Malicious love
Miracle of Fatima
Broken alarm clock
Lets see what you guys come up with; by Feb. One
Bonus points if you add; Peanut Butter and Jelly with Meatballs the daily special
tom

The young boy happy and contented in life
Sheltered from the real evils of man
Lost in his room with the treasures of adventure
Unbridled dreams tapestry serene summer days
Purity of youth’s innocence in soft blue eyes
This happy child lost in pages upon his bed
Never paying life a second thought
The realization that someday he would pass on
Oh, to be invincible again if only for a moment…
Years flitter by on the winds as they always have
Struggle reared up its eyes all to often
The imagination boy of unsullied venture
Began the transforming journey into the world
The crisp blue eyes of photographed youth
Now a hard gray reflecting scars of strife
The insatiable ardor for living in the moment
Becomes the bittersweet flavor of years gone by
Under the flushing candle his sword now a pen
He writes of looking in the mirror of whetted eyes
Wishing what he believed then, he could grasp now.
Oh, to be invincible again if only for a moment…

Thoughts melt and distil under a green/blue flame,
Swirling down, separated out and mixed.
If you’ve seen it, it’s broken;
If you’ve heard it, it’s shredded;
If you’ve read it, it’s rewritten.
It's really quite unlikely to be fixed.
You’re cutting up holiday snaps
and pasting them onto card.
And you’re scrambling madly
to hide the mess on the floor
As your mum yells for cleanliness
From behind your bedroom door.
3001 puzzle pieces and you’re jamming them together,
No wonder your imagination is at the end of its tether.
You’ve got two pieces that are sun-kissed clouds
“What comes… what comes next?”
You’ve got two roots in the soil
“What comes… what comes next?”
Your mother is sitting in the hall
With a scarf tied round her neck,
Her back pressed up against the wall
As she deals the jigsaw deck.
3001 pieces in her hands,
Mixed with childhood drawings
And grains of sand.
She lays out seven in a line,
Which you place between the two and two.
“Oh, but that and that won’t rhyme!”
“Don’t you think that this one will just do?”
And your father’s disapproving in the kitchen,
“You don’t need no occult nonsense,
Or a system to order out your brain”
He just stands there “focussed”
Over a pot on a blue/green flame,
Subconsciously mumbling while stooped,
“Look here Son, look, I’m making poa-tery soup.”
But you would never tell him that,
Just like you’ll never be finished, ever.
No-one ever is
Even if they know they’re doing it or not.
My grandfather died last week,
The sourest stuck-in-a-rut-of-a-man
That you’re ever going to meet.
The diagnosing doctors were in for a treat.
They said that there was something wrong there,
Something wrong with his brain,
That there was something strange there
Fundamentally, main.
They said that he died - after scans - in a cubicle stall,
When his brain haemorrhaged and cracked open,
And jigsaw pieces piled up against the wall.

I am a double agent
Your best weapon but worst enemy
I am a window of understanding
The phenomenon o fan unexplained mystery
I am the muse of inspiration
And the saint of self-expression
I am the puzzle of your riddles
And the key to your dreams
I am a controversial image within your shadow
A moment within your thoughts, which is not
Without meaning
I am a wish cursing myself
Willing myself away from being
I am a poisoned love spell
And a book you never stop reading
I am a murderous hunter
With all the good intentions
I am a victim of coincidence
And unanswered questions
I am a sexual desire
Desired and loving oneself
I am the light in your darkness
And the darkness of the next light
I am the conventions of society
Writing its next life

Life is like a red umbrella
dancing in the sweet blue rain or
running through the deepest puddle
Lord, offer thee, just a few things,
white robe or gown, for
My trip to heaven,
When I am dead and gone
Please, do not bring me
flowers I cannot smell,
red roses I cannot see,
a world, I cannot touch,
just keep on living,
In this earthy-place, when
I am dead and gone

Poetry tells parables and parallels
reaching deep within subjective context
creatively
insisting
on truth.
Draw first the air
billow down morning mountainside
ineffable,
affected,
by change...
Swirl fire,
passion charged with body’s experience
thrum
heartbeat
as One...
Water wave
washing through the ebb and flow of life
tidal
blood
ancestral reminders
Of Earth
all that is stone and stardust
crystalline
manifestation
of Spirit.
We Are
All That
Is

Cupped-hands blessed the first winter snow –
That tasted like peppermint wind
The pines and aspens share secrets,
As they whispers what they know
Then, they giggled like schoolchildren
In the snowy playground – with the red
Brick schoolhouse off in the distance
Their cold faces blinked and blushed
Like a basket full of wild freckled strawberries
Suddenly, fresh pine cones fall to the ground;
They chuckle, laugh and then roll over,
Exposing their innocent souls to fresh blue sky,
This all appeared in the first winter snow
This, I am sure and still are

Tumble me through this nebulous
connection
so
I can
gently touch your fingertip
as you
reach
for November’s sky
Kindly
wrap me in winter wishes
once upon an icy star
and
warm me with promised
nights of velvet
naked
Then
blessedly
release me into the
night of snow
and lost

I was like a piece of paper
I was smooth and crumple free
And then a man did pick me out
And scribbled over me.
And then when he had done his work
He took me in his hand
He crushed that piece of paper, me
I didn’t stand a chance
Then came a day that he did think
He wasn’t maybe done
He took that paper out the bin
And smoothed it out again.
He didn’t see the scribble there
And again he took his pen
He scribbled more and made a mess
And crumbled me again.
Some time did past and then one day
Another time was found
The man who picked it out this time
Was angry and astray
He took that piece of paper, me
And again it was smoothed out
He saw that there was scribble there
But didn’t take a count
I had some wine that split on me
I had some crackers too
I wasn’t what he want me be
And nearly tore in two
He wrote some angry words on me
And vented for release
And then I found me once again
Just thrown on a heap
Now I sit here mighty soiled
With lots of marks on me
And I don’t care just anymore
For those who don’t want me.

Fog has shrouded the yard and house
Yet the sun tries to shed its golden light
It is so beautiful this morning
The shroud is low but above
Is this glorious sky blue sky
With polka-dotted cottony clouds
With the light of the sun radiating outward
I can not see the trees across the road
Nor the short distance to creek
However I know that they are there
Even in my inability to see them
I feel this awe inspiring Spirit come over
I am in the presence of the Spirit
I can feel him surround me
The roosters still welcome the sun
A few birds sing in the still and damp
The crows are calling for their flock to come
Dine on the early worms and bugs
The Prairie Sunflower just radiates
Its golden yellow for me to enjoy
I am so glad that I was allowed
To have this flower in my yard
A pear just fell from the tree
Reminding me that fall is here
The coolness in the air is wonderful
Thank you for this day

Ah
to look into thine eyes
and cast a shadowy glare
to break that misty stare
to open the portals
to an endless journey
into your heart
that is my thrust
and never dying lust
to embrace your rosy lips
upon a golden moment
and hold it
in a crystal space
ever so gently
never to break
the way you move and glide
like a shimmering tide
a settling curve
upon my nerve
and to make this boast
is my toast
to life
and you.

like a two way mirror
our personal looking glass
a series of moments
being reflected back
images keep flowing
floating by on endless streams
countless hours chasing
realities of dreams
not everything appears to be
exactly what it seems
inner feeling , can seem more real
than our perceptive reality .

In my mind, thousands of memories swim around.
Funny how we store them up,sort and stack them,are them.
I'm so glad sometimes,
glad nobody can see....
all the memory storehouses
that live and breath deep down inside of me.
Every wonderful sunset,
and flowers that were picked just for me.
Faces that became my past,
sweet nothings, and broken dreams,
good intentions and many promises
they should have known wouldn't last.
And,
times I've spent with my family,
my sister and two dads.
A bus-ride with my brother they'll never let me forget!
The laughter of my childhood,
and the moment I heard my daughter cry for the first time,
sweet bliss.
So many, many others,
but I think I'll let those be.
It still amazes the moments we chose to keep.
A reflection of what makes us so unique.
I guess i'm gonna close the vault,
it seems I found some peace,
and yes it's okay, I've come to learn
some of those dancing memories will never cease.

The morning sky drips of
spiraling particles of shattered
spinning, roaming tears
dew drips from the eyes of
the Gypsy clouds in the
skies.
Harmonic sighs weave the
song of centuries told
of the travelers of the sky.
Trellis of puffed swirly
cotton candy billow
pillows floating by.
Star jutted pockets
gathered the flow
and the stair case of
heaven shadow steps
of a wild rhythmic dance.
Violin strings and
tambourine beats
hush you can see
and feel her presence
so near.
In the sunbeam
that broke through
the skies into this new
morning dressing the
earth in her wild
roaming cries.
Thick rich honey
notes of dew of particles of
shattered crystalline
tears she waters the
morning in her spirit
she floats away
in serene silence.
A gypsy rose of such
velvet petal beauty
her heart roams
in the skies
up high.

I picture myself flying
past the city limits
floating off into oblivion
with nothing but clarity ahead
I am Free.
Sitting here with my imagination
running off like a black stallion
thinking about what my hand would look like
painted in wild, exotic colors
I am Dreaming.
The world is so strange
how did we get to this strange point
has evolution gone astray
or is this the way the world is meant to be
I can See.
To learn to question is to learn to think
for we chose our own path
do not follow the imprudent way
for something greater awaits you
I am Learning.

Each time we kiss I get this feeling I've never felt before
I breathe into you and you breathe into me as we share a summer's gaze
The light shines again and you're standing there
I look at you as I've never seen you before
I fall deep into your eyes with every look
With every touch I feel an angel's wing across my skin
The days are warmer, the rain is softer
As we hold tight to one another
I never want to let you go
One tear falls and you're there to wipe it clean
Your warm skin against mine is all I feel
When we breathe as one we're oblivious to the world
We have our own little place that's ours alone
You can hear the waterfall in the distance
Water trickles down the stream of love
And yet this whole place is our secret
If only one breath I had to take to keep our love so safe
I'd breathe one last time to see your face
and feel your skin in mine
Softer than a midnight's dream
Into the day we go astray
To be in our place is the very best way
To wash the world's pain away
When I'm with you I feel no worries
No stress is there to hold me down
If only we breathe as one...

What sweet voice lives behind this brook
Stars, these eyes shall look
Sky shall rest this afternoon
Clouds shall sing about this moon
Time shall live each and every minute
Sunlight reflects deep within it
Once more, when we look
Your sweet voice lives behind this brook

from the depths
of the ocean
to the mountains of
the moon
you can see what
you want to see, learn what you will
but maybe - just maybe
you'll
alight on a
branch
join the birds in
song
Unreal thought!
Unreality
has become the
order of the day
while senseless legions
march
the air is full
of the sounds of gunpowder
As the fire dies
become what
you always
desired to be
leave the
battle to others
eyes peer out
in the shadows
hope rises with the wind
let us view peaceful
green fields below
fly with those birds
as down below
a magical truce is
reached
To be enshrined
Forever
in the hearts of men

I stole the silver lining
from the clouds above
and wove them into a mantle
for my bare shoulders
no longer will wishes come true
this atrocity realized
the heavens opened
crying sparkling tears
these I beaded on a
golden thread for my neck
when darkness came, I pulled
the twinkling stars from
the night stitching them
into a flowing skirt
using the crescent moon
as a tiara for my hair
for these sins I am damned
instead of creating something
beautiful, I pillaged it
selfish, narcissistic, envious
of beauty beyond my own

Empty cold branch fingers
Reaching out in all directions
Through the quiet skies
Gray and heavy smoldering
Whisping skyward from chimneys
Through the windows frost child eyes
Spy the first snowfall softly
Drifting about heedlessly
White velvet landscaped covering
As December settles down
Enfolding the night
In her tranquility

How do you know that you’re in love…?
How do you know when you feel love…?
How can you say that you’re in love…?
How do you know if you’ve never felt love…?
Though there may be times when you smile
Thinking about your sweetheart
But even you must know that deep down inside
It won’t last for too long
You shouldn’t be foolish
Especially if you’ve never felt love
But who is the one to say or judge
What love really is?
It’s nothing more than a fairy tale
That a few experience now
True love is a very complicated matter…
How do you know that you’re in love?
How can you say, “You’re in love”
When you know that love is
A mysterious feeling
Nothing but confusion comes
From a feeling anticipated
However, not many get
What it is that they’re
Looking for…
How do you know that you’re in love…?
How do you know when you feel love…?
How can you say that you’re in love…?
How do you know if you’ve never felt love…?
Do you know how many times that
One has been hurt because of love?
And do you know how many are still
Together because of love?
If love really is something we all seek
Then why does it hurt?
Very few ever find love
Very few receive true love
If the numbers are so small
Then why work for it?
Enough damage has been done
And it’s time to just move on
Love is too complicated
For most of us to handle
How do you know that you’re in love?
(How do you know that you’re in love?)
How can you say, “You’re in love”
(How do you know when you feel love?)
When you know that love is
A mysterious feeling
Nothing but confusion comes
(How can you say that you’re in love?)
From a feeling anticipated
(How do you know if you’ve never felt love?)
However, not many get
What it is that they’re
Looking for…

Two spirits of passions
From ever separating worlds
Watching and hoping with intensity
Drifting on winds of nowhere
Tracings of comfort and familiarity
Fearing the change that arrives with risk
Ignoring pangs in exchanges of nothings
Yet there exists a sweet fervor between them
That unyielding thirst of eternal desiccation
Two souls of this fiery desire
From existence so indistinct
On parallel journeys reaching for the one another
Admittance revering nature’s truth
Building intensities more than either cares to confess
Each wanting to stake all for a chance…silence prevailing
Passing the eons of eternities boundaries
No end in sight of this voiceless duel of pride
Begging inside to grapple the moment before it passes
Two spirits of passion
From ever separating worlds
If to chance a moment’s gaze to see that they truly are one

Oh little quipster
Come dance for me
Embrace upon me
Wit and humor
Hypnotize me
With alluring charm
Unbreakable
Fill your performance
With moments of regret
Whipped and wrenched
Upon my spirit
Do me this favor
One final time
And I shall forget
Your debt to me

From her perspective,
everything's looming,
pastel and vibrant
and kissing the sky
She has a way
of expressing opinions
in still lifes,
in softness becoming an art
She paints with fingers
small versions of mine
and she wonders when
she will be an adult
In her perspective
the beauty's amusing
She writes me love notes
passed under the door
Her voice is crackling
and sweet in the morning
She's always asking
for gum and for treats
From her perspective,
I'm wise for admiring
the simple delights
soaked in beauty reposed.

Mermaid Heart
Mermaid on the moon:
come see me soon.
I am fading in the night,
losing my light,
I am torn in two pieces;
one of them is ewe.
Heart,a mermaids heart,
is the only
word---that i have been
able,
softly spoken,
to find---to utilize,
in the water,
where my mermaid swims.
Which one word (heart)
my heart
spoken in love
comes even close
close to the love
written in the
Heart of ewe,
Woman in the foamy waves
swimming near to me,
my love it comes.
It is a heart,
a mermaids heart.

Pride and prejudice has been ripped from me,
and my strength has abandoned me,
yet my will still crashes against the
breach within.
My citadel a long forgotten fortitude
left to rot and decay.
As my soul seeks refuge in other hosts
to take and mingle while balancing
my mental ballast before it erupts.
With guilt peeking in on me
to remind me i'm still in debt.
While my Autumn years have yet to arrive,
I feel vandalized,sterilized,and alone.
The very root system of my essence
has retracted the twilight of my descent
is not as dark as one would imagine,and
yet I am still a minor in time and
I can not consent to my downfall.

The day’s eyes closing bidding goodnight
Stroking the skies bitter reddish copper
Wind arrested folklore settling low
Lit only by the soft blushing of candlelight
My final stanza is penned for me
The bounty of my lifetime in toil
Strewn wearily about yet I am gratified
Back to the beginning at last I’m beckoned
The wonder of life sweetly consecrated
Eons of drudgery sit pure upon my crest
The symphony strings echoing dully
Life’s eminence now infinitely darkened
Those earthbound lament over me
Their salty sacrifices fall a blessing
The attribute of living sits grimly
Yielding with each burdened exhale, venerated
I fight ahead awaiting those whispers
A final focused moment of noble dignity
Delaying but an instant to express…before
My spirit answers back in perpetual silence

hold your breath
... Hold your breath...
untill i'm there
I don't even want you
to breath without me...
i dont want you to do anything,
that i may miss.
Hold your breath
and i swear...
I will never be far away.
...Reach out your hand,
Or call my name,
I will come running
Hold your breath...
untill i hold your hand
kiss your lips.
see your smile
feel our bodies touch...
Hold your breath,
...Close your eyes,
And i will wipe your fears away,
...Chase your problems
Into the darkest corners
Hold your breath.
Just hold your breath
Because
i love you
And i will always save you...

Reaching for the light inside of my heart...
That light will be the one to guide me in life...
Certain thoughts run through my mind
Trapping me within...
Finding a way out each time gets more difficult
However... I know that I have the power
To break through all obstacles...
The love given to me from you...
Is the sword that I need to keep fighting on...
You're the light that cuts through the darkness
And as my guide, I depend on you
To show me the way...
When I'm down, so low that I can't
Get up on my own...
I know somehow that I'll find a way back up
That is...because of your love for me
And my love for you is my strength...
No matter how strong the darkness maybe...
With you by my side, I can overcome anything...
Our love is our weapon, and the only one needed
So my love, I will fight with you
For all eternity...
I can feel my heart filled
The darkness replaced with light
Within me...
The love given to me from you...
Is the sword that I need to keep fighting on...
No matter how strong the dark maybe
Your light, and my light
Together will fight on!

Gentle rain
Sweet summer
Took me away again
I looked for colours
That meant so much,
in my heart
I found them at dusk
Crimson red
Burnt orange
Yellow too
A touch of blue
In the colours of me
I found you

He made her cry,
again today,
he calls this love,
in his own twisted way.
She can't go on,
living like this,
trying to survive,
under his iron fist.
Where can she run to,
is help close by,
who will comfort,
her blue eyes that cry.
He is not a man,
he is way too mean,
the worst case of evil,
she has ever seen.
Money is an issue,
this is all she needs,
to make her break,
and once again be free.
A very hard lesson,
but she learned real good,
as her life crumbled,
like many said it would.
One can't be happy,
where no happiness dwells,
she must make her own future,
by stepping out of hell.

I stared in the eyes of Beauty, and she was...
Everything I thought she would be
But when I saw her I was speechless
She noticed me I noticed her
Her fragrance was beautiful
She smelled like frankincense & myrrh
We made eye contact she gave me a lil smile
And kept walking
Then and there I knew I had to have this woman
I wanted to smell her beauty
I had to feel her touch I want to
Fall in love wit her not lust
I want her to fall asleep in my arms
Not just have sex & bust a nut
I want her to be my everything
I want her to take refuge in me
I wanna hear her say that she misses me
When I'm with her I wanna feel like I'm free
So I call out to her and I say...
I been looking for you
She says I been waiting on you
We converse in a conversation
And all the anticipation is thrown out the door
You see this woman just makes my heart soar
And her personality just makes me crave for
Her love even more
We exchange numbers and we go our separate ways
I know she's different from every woman I met
Because I ain't thinking bout gettin laid
And all I keep thinking bout is will we last
Or just be another fling
But a couple minutes later my cell phone rings... it's her
"TO BE CONTINUED"

Make The Silent Poetry on Floor - Rangoli*
A gift for all Poetry friends
The Poem is dedicated to Deborah Guzzi for the
inspiration from her blog Onam India &
Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S
Making Rangoli is a thing of joy,
It would fill your heart with lovely pleasure,
When you would watch the silent Poetry,
Smiling in your house on the floor,
And telling a lovely story, of your creative art,
You would feel as if, you have found a treasure,
A treasure of wealth and a way to pleasure.
It is so simple a thing and so lovely in nature,
Even a child can get this priceless pleasure,
Just think a shape or design which you can draw,
It would bring for you
The wealth of happiness of immense nature.
No hard and fast rules, to explore this pleasure,
Just clean your place, when you are at leisure,
Specially the place, where you want to keep this treasure,
Make it as neat and clean, as a place of prayer.
You have many options to make a Rangoli*,
Of your choice and colors,
Take plenty of flower petals of different shades & colors, or
Just take powder of Arrowroot & make it colored,
Keep more of Purple, Yellow, Red or Green,
Both light & dark as you wish to paint and keep, or
Simply paint it with watercolors, to make,
A gorgeous beauty at your door steps.
Make a simple flower, a lotus bud or a figure
Fill these flower petals, in the sketch you have made, or
Just carefully spray different shade of powders
You have made, as different color shades to use.
You can make a Lotus, You can make a Jesus
Make a Temple, a Church or a bell of Christmas,
If you like it, you can also make Mosque,
Just draw a circle & fill it with colors,
Its joy to make a Rangoli & more when,
Watching it becomes a silent pleasure.
Just make it near the entrance point,
From where the Goddess of wealth
May come seeing these colorful drawings,
Sitting on her favorite seat of Lotus,
She would enter in your house
With her blessings of wealth & pleasure.
Make a Rangoli to attract the Goddess of wealth,
Just keep only your dwelling free from heat and dust,
Decorate it with your own made drawing and colors.
See how the children would love this creative game,
Of Making designs and art, to bring in them
A joy of creating something from nothing.
Ravindra
*Rangoli (is a Hindi word) means Circle filled with different colors
Kanpur India 24th Sept. 2010
*Origin of Rangoli is given in my previous Poem

It's Nothing
In my head
Underneath my bed
It's in the rain
They call me a code red
I am labeled INSANE
He loves me, he said
I'm out of my mind
Doctor I need my mind
Can't go back and rewind
WHY WAS I MISLEAD?
WHY YOU LEFT ME BEHIND?
Everything you said I misread..
Man love is blind
I've completely lost my mind
WHY IS IT SO HARD TO FIND?
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?
What you did to me is so unkind
It's so unkind
HOW COULD YOU LET THIS BE?
I may be crazy!!
Very crazy they say..
Seeing I kick myself everyday
You were never real!!
You were never real!!
I stare at the wall
I stand so still
I lose it cause you don't call
Without you I have no will.
Rocking myself side to side
Pulling my hair saying it's not real,
It's not real!!
Remember with my eyes open wide
How you took me up that hill
You bounce me like a ball
Then you told me we needed to chill
Then you let me fall
My heart stopped and stood still
Yet my heart has not broken.
IS THIS A JOKE?
It's not for real.
These feelings I can not hide
I still love him so I see no big deal
It's the sane part of me that has died.
I tell you his love for me is real.
His love for me is real.......!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
SKAT
10-11-04

The other me comes in speed of bullets
The other me scares the hell out of me true that
The me I know salutes others in silence playing dum other me
I limit debates bating battles replayed in poverty's plates
Dozing free plates in brushed shoulders playing starving me
Graded to grant the me in two different Me’s
Twin souls speaking the language of fate
Me hate me when me dribbles the whole me, holy ship I just planted me against me
Delectable me passes me freedom of spreading secrets via groceries
Freshly ripe lyrical groceries
Like fruits experiencing the view of teeth verses lips and taste before that long term bite, the other me sees your decorated hate
Identity robbed by fear I beg you to make use of me not the other me
The other me comes in speed of bullets
Rats bite and blow freshly baked breeze bullets
I know the other me protects me
Transmitters seizing existence in past tense passing funeral tents
For I killed the metaphors till poetry committed suicide
Pay with your ears before the hot stage turns into a hostage
The other me speaks only metaphysical tense
Nervousness makes no sense when me put on pants that fit my other me hips
Size fits all feet as I prepare my schizophrenic fists
Crazy hit punching bags in the back of word banks
Words invested to enrol late registrations in the University of your Attention
Cramps cram the vibration of your lips when me reap poetry's only rips ripping the hell out of me
I am scared of me
The other me comes in speed of bullets
(c) Raymond Ngomane

MOUNTAIN SKIES
I want to feel the mountain top.
Kicking my last shadow to a complete stop.
Swallowing the clouds in the sky
No one to get me down from this mountain high
A shallow grave I dug, when I feel the need to hide
A danger zone, where all UFO's collide
Now, I found a sweet place, when no one is around
High on this mountain, hidden in this castle, I cannot be found.
Watching all that slithers from top to ground.
The smile you once put on my face,
Is now lost somewhere in the mountain trace
Finding myself paranoid without truly amazing grace.
This out of balanced place, is drying up my cries
A boundary, beyond the castles and mountain of lies
One cherished memory of your hazel eyes
Somewhere near heaven's broken walls
No one but God, can hear my calls
My pain flows above mountain waterfalls.
After trips, I have fallen down
Inside I feel as if only I own this ghost Castle town
No need to save me, from the moat when I drown
Just one last AIR BALLOON RIDE
Beyond the castle on every mountainside
A kiss of death sealed up high
Far away from what I use to call, Cloud Nine
~Finding A New Castle In The Sky~
By;-)

Just put a pencil in my hand and suddenly...
..Smilling, talking, dancing across the page, climbing in a story,
Drawing a leaf, a picture,
Writing an adventure waiting to be read,
Drawing, writing all the whille,
Smilling at every word to be born,
Expressing every feeling ever known to man: happiness, sadness, love, and hate,
Every feeling ever imagined and described,
Magic in my words and fingers,
Creating beauty and perfection,
Beauty on paper,
Love in the sky,
Better and better do my words fly,
Higher, stronger, more beautiful, to perfectionperhaps not yet, perhaps not ever.

Inspired by Deborah Guzzi’s Blog ONAM / INDIA
The Indian Rangoli or
Colorful Poetry on floor
This is the story of the poetry of
Ancient Indian Women,
Who were less blessed to get,
The knowledge from the learned Gurus.
They were living before marriage
With their parents,
And helping their mothers,
In household affairs,
Or looking after their husbands,
And his great families,
After their marriages,
In their early tender age.*
Finding no ways to express,
The feelings of their hearts,
One of them took a chalk in her hand
And made a sketch on the floor like an art,
There was no canvas and no brush,
To fill her great artistic skills with colors,
Emotions were flowing in her mind,
Like a rainbow with alluring colors,
The talented one among them,
Collected flower petals of different colors,
And took many flowers to fill and decorate,
The sketches of Rose, Lotus and others, they had made on the floor.
Gradually she started putting,
Color petals in those lovely designed sketches,
And filled all empty sketch figures she had made there,
She was astonished to see that it came out like real Lotus flower.
The painting of petals on the floor was,
So alluring and enchanting that even its,
Beauty and fame, one day reached the heavens,
And Goddess Lakshmi* was too pleased to hear
That some one has made figures of Lotus,
More beautiful and colorful than her favorite,
Seat of sitting on Lotus,
And she immediately decided to visit that house,
Where the young girl had made such alluring beauty of colors
Like poetry flowing on the floor, every where before Dewali*
When she visited that neat and clean house,
Decorated with enchanting beauty of Rangoli
She was so happy that she blessed that girl with
Immense wealth and happiness.
Which always comes with the coming of
Lakshmi or the sign of wealth, every where in the world.
She also said, that day, while visiting the place of that girl
“Who so ever makes and keeps her house neat and clean
Any where in the world and decorate it with Rangoli
Will get my blessings of happiness and wealth”
Ravindra
Kanpur India 18th Sept. 2010
Clarifications:
The above is the brief story of the origin of Rangoli, which
must have started more than 2000 to 5000 year back.
Now Indian woman is active in all the fields of education
& social uplifting.
*Although the early age marriages has now been made
illegal but in some parts this bad tradition still exists.
* Dewali or Deepawali is the festival of lights, joys &
happiness, which falls every year around 5thNov.

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Far away at the break of day, the Peacock spreads his beautiful feathers.
While the Purple House Finch
Feeds its young from my feeder
To him life is a cinch
Until the cat comes as a reader
Of those birds, which he is a seeker
The Mocking Bird sings
Because hidden with nest_eggs
Escapes fast cat's swings
For nest rest in rose trellis
Clever this fellow and mean
Purple Barn Swallow rises high
Above this stress greater than the rest
Contest:For(Four)Beautiful Birds
Sponsor:Constance La France
Written by: Sara Kendrick
Date: April 29, 2011

Contact.
I live for it.
Whether it is of the eyes or a pleasant scent to the noes.
This contact could be as simple as landing in your presence
like an alien landing on earth I want to explore your herbs.
Contact.
It puts my senses on overload.
Contact like my lips hungrily reaching yours.
I crave for it.
I've dreamt of it.
Body to body contact.
Mind to mind contact.
Contact through a text or a phone call.
The moment my eyes see that blush of color
on your face sends a message of contact to my brain
saying that you want the same type of contact I've been hoping for.
So what is next after that type of confirmation?
The contact of the door hitting the lock and
than the contact of skin on top of skin.
And the heat of our body temperatures rising.
I have made contact.

Erosion - 1
With a scholar eye I am looking at-
Looking at Sharpened Dream,
Burning heart burning across
Feeling the sour, feeling the layer
Is being wet tongue, gradually uncovered
vibrating lips and stick while mixing at liquor
- A chemical compound searching for eyes
- Searching liberty from sin
- Burning the recipe of purity
I am chewing all the glamour with tortured eyes
Breathing fragrance;
breathing easily passing days and nights
Easily
being tortured, told her-
As its an erosion ; it’s a feelings
Written by Javed Akter
Erosion – 2
Sharp Sunshine ; I become anxious
sharpened me while it touches
the ground
Like homeless lives I search forever
Blue ; blue feelings always
Walking around
Always sliding doors are crawling
Crawling ever now and then
Kindly me; myself kind while waking up
After long night sleepless; sleeveless
From deadly bed
Changing everything; changing backbone slowly
Steadily this side and that
Every time looking at decay
-Decay altering the sides
my feelings ; herself towards

Eyelids heavy with memories
Cover lights and shadows of a hospital in ruins.
A baby with grown-up fingers
Reads the past in Braille
Barely touching the meaning of broken cobblestone streets of her past.
Her fingertips retract like eyes of snails back into the present
Where handsome men - immoral in their animalism -
try to understand LOVE for the very first time.
Great White sharks kill tri-athletes and place them in immortality
as writers reach the end of the journey frustrated by their lack of gills ...
The torrid yellow burden rolls down incinerated crystals between her breasts
She senses people as zigzags with burglarized drawers
rhythmically roaming up and down the Riviera...
The ocean breeze murmurs: “ Michelle, my belle...”, “ I love, I love you, I looove you...”
Invading her nostrils with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee
and the smell of barbeque that, once she could digest.
The sun drops gold coins into the turquoise as they ricochet into her degenerating eyes.
I see myself in her from the above as unscrupulous tides rip open our sandy abdomen
Violently sucking my body's sand sculpture back to the undertow.
It's almost dusk and seagulls fly through me to a secret shelter I wish I had...
I'm scared to fall asleep as I might wake up without wings
while numbness's taking over my bleeding shoulder blades...
"The body of a peddler with broken clocks on sale
was found tonight
on the landing pad of a hospital in ruins"

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass.
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are.
Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment.
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers,
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.
Jacob Reinhardt
10/07/13

I wish to be magician
With magic wand and such
I would change some awful things
In one magic touch
I wish to be a baker
Bake some yummy bread
Feed people all around
Even those I’ve never met
I wish to be a soldier
To spread peace and fun
To fight with words of wisdom
Instead of a gun
I wish to be a teacher
Bring some hope and love
Tell the wise man story
About God above
While, I’m a mother
Wish to see my children grow
For them take my heart
Everywhere they go

It's America’s favorite sandwich spread,
No doubt,
When you ask any kid or adult, what
They would like in there lunch box.
Natural response good old fashioned P.B.
And J.
White bread, wheat, whole grain,
It really doesn't matter as long as
It's creamy or chunky style.
Jiffy to general label just put that
On the table and watch them smile.
Forget about cutting off the crust,
Or any of that fancy stuff.
Just keep your fingers out of the way,
When it comes to feeding a bunch of
Hunger kids just stand clear
Until the inner hunger beast is satisfied.
Then mom can bring in her
Essential tools for clean up detail.
It's been prepared so many ways,
Toasted, fried or even baked,
Assorted mixtures, layered textures
Some people even put bananas
Or mayo with it.
Myself call it a personal choice,
I like it regular please no extras.
America’s favorite sandwich it's
Stood the test of time.
By the way it's on my shopping list
Again Peanut Butter and Jelly,
I wonder why?
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

between the grains of sand
all my dreams shattered apart
a cup of my coffee spilled in between
dissolved between the salty waves
disappeared
just like a lost dream
between the grains of sand a lost life
so things seem
no matter how hard I hold on
everything from between my fingers slip
just like sand grains
lost between life's sea waves in endless vain
one thing that would remain
that would be pain

It is cold out now
but don't you worry
Spring is right around the corner
and will be here soon
The sun will be bright and we might burn
but it is better to be hot
and to sweat
than to freeze your toes
Two months from now it all will start
the crack of the bat the cheer of the crowd
Every little boys dream
to watch their heroes play
So let's all have a some patience
and the days will pass
and before you know
that season will be here

In the taverna, he sits, incognito---
(he’s just 16) among them, the men of the past
and dawdles over a bottle of beer, where he’s
waiting for the night to rest. He stares
at his watch: quarter past ten. Ahh,
more hours, for him, to wait. Till how long
the bottle will last, half-empty now, until
he can see the night in full, naked before his eyes?
His youth is like a blazing fire, ready for action
and in his wildest dream, he claims the night.

I love to watch them eagles soar lands edge
I love to watch them unfurl their wings wide
I love to watch them dip and dive while circling blue yonder
I love to watch them acheive highest mountain peaks
I love to watch them crest their new borns in the nest
I love to watch them ruffle their feathers after a rainfall
I love to watch them represent the United States Of America
I love to watch them not back down from predators
I love to watch them continue seeking for missing mate
I love to watch them conjoin and start a new tradition
I love to watch them eagles soar lands edge

.
The scent of Tube Roses
Is so overpowering
From the bouquet
That is on the casket
Allergeric nasal passages swelling
The dress that my family chose
For me to wear is so lovely
I just adore black silk and organdy
Can't wait until I can get up
I want to play with my gun
Target practice for a while
I want to be prepared to kill
That man who left me at the alter
Seeing him in his grave will be so gratifying
The sound of the hearse coming is so clear
Even though it is so far away
So little time here on this earth
Wanted my life to be so different
The hearse is getting close
Tonight I will get to play
In the graveyard where my love does lie
When the hearse arrives
They will take me away
To rest in peace so they say
But I'll roam the graveyard
Where my former lover lies
I'll wait for his ghost to rise
Then I'll blow him away on this eve
I will do it once again with ease
Constance La France's Among The Dead Constest
Written by; Sara Kendrick

What could live beneath radiation's
Mushroom storm cloud?
The heavens are burnt asunder,
Horizons red dawn glows,
With an eerie mist.
Lightening and thunder strikes,
Against fallout’s atmospheric residue,
Ashes debris falls as embers fire.
Emerging from the depths below,
A creature surfaces, a monster
With rages vengeance, flowing
Through it's veins.
Born from human arrogance,
And ignorance, a genetic mutation.
Natures evolutionary throw back,
Our legacy of destruction,
A reptilian tidal wave.
With an earth shattering roar,
A tremendous force felt around,
The world,
He announce his calamity to come.
Wading through the ocean depths,
The king of all lizards,
A clashing titan, heading towards
Civilization, at torpedo's
Super sonic velocity.
A great reckoning is at hand,
Conflicts Jurassic hurricane,
Slams against the shores of
Reality, known as Tokyo bay.
Wreckage’s wrecking ball, tares apart
Mankind’s environmental habitat,
Without any mercy.
Hell's fiery breath, is spewed forth
From his jaws of death, radioactivity's
After shock, lives within this dooms
Days creature.
As electricity's feedback, shimmers
Downwards, on his spiny back,
Seemingly to recharge the beast.
He roars once more, as a wake up call,
Beware his name lives in your
Night mares,
Behold Godzilla, the king of all
Monsters.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Flight of stillness;
idle,
ditch-wise.
Ladders point up
but they say the ground is greater;
sunlight knitting to their brown feet green socks.
They crestfall and
buckle at the knee.
Hear guts clap thunder off somewhere else
but no storm in sight to maitre d' this mesa;
got to rot the mud lest
an urge to ripen ripens.
But hear now
the locusts flood this rut,
hunt for want,
impelled to eat each lunch of your decay.
Earth uncorks her pores.
you drift upon the grass, lift the damp from the sod
like a pillow of cloud sopping Earth's steam-
to be made the steward of this land;
lightning
flash! ladders
shatter!
Pay in full the cost of water,
less labors not yet lost.

She sings sweetly
a song borne of love
She is a child of God
and the mother of doubt
she'll push and shove
then hide as she dances all about
lost in the wane of soft moonlight
A powerful beauty contained
within blue eyes, a golden stare
of burning fire raging on starry night
She's an essence
of what cannot be restrained
a shadow flirting deep into the foggy mist
She's been waiting for a long slow kiss
to set her free
not realizing she's already there

MY FATHERS HANDS
He the man known as father, worked a common man's labor,
Never did this soul complain, even as his last breath inhaled,
On earth.
Daddy's little girl was I, the apple of eye, one might say,
The sparkles pride that lit up his spirit and made the pain
Of hardship melt away.
Calloused, and blistered, he earned every marks blemish,
Strength's scares were worn in my fathers hands.
Deeply engraved within the living embodiment,
Of truth and honor's pride, I'll carry him within me
For the rest of my life.
This mountain of a man I called dad, placed these
Tiny feet upon the right path, and even when I did
Stray he stepped in and led this wayward women
Back.
In heaven's grace he'll be watching over me,
Always and someday no doubt, we embrace once
More, and those loving hands will lovely hold this
Child now grow, and I'll know again his eternal warmth.
In blessing's grace, may the angels watch over thee,
Until we meet again, on the distant shores of Nirvana.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
CONTEST WITH THESE HANDS
12-20-2013
VISUAL #5

Join me in making our planet our safest haven!
------------------------------------
You may be wondering what I am pensively looking at that far!
It's the new world where I want to take you from where we are!
It's a place where the weaker you are, you deserve more care!
If you are strong, in looking after others you have bigger share!
We see too many who want to grab a lot to satisfy their greed!
While they gorge with that glut, they deprive ones in real need!
We talk a lot now about the special people with special needs!
But there is so little of what we say that shows up in our deeds!
Unlike the wild jungle now that favors the survival of the fittest!
My people will believe that the frailest of us get the cosiest nest!
You would not yet find my visionary land at this time and place!
But we can put it all together here without venturing into space!
I feel sad why what I wish to happen soon looks far and distant!
Yet it can come closer and happen tomorrow if we've the intent!
Would you like to join me in making our planet our safest haven?
To get there we just need the will; neither a guru nor any maven!
---------------------------
The best place for a poem to live is in the heartbeats of those who love it!
Blessed are the poets whose verses are read, not on papers they just sit!
----------------------------
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Paint a picture with your mind
Dust out your cluttered head
Close the outer eye and open
Imagination’s keenest eye within
See now grassy hills that rise and fall
See the crisp blue stream that winds along
Now the downy clouds reflected in
The water far below its floating waves
Hear the sparrow as he trills his song
Crisply over lofty trees of fir
Listen as the brook sings back the tune
Of sparrow’s joyous song of sweet refrain
Never would one be alone if when
Creativity takes him such a place
He could see and hear and touch and taste
The joys which offered elsewhere can be his
If only in his mind’s eye, he can go
Locations that his fancied thoughts would fly
Nowhere is beyond limit for him,
Whose inventions take such grandiose flight
(This is a re-post)

Locked in my cabin I can bare to think
turn to the rocks and let it smash and sink,
our voyage's end seems to be on the brink,
alas a RAIDERS ship now turns to a mild drink,
"captain" a voice at my cabin door screams out,
as I reach from my sward and stand firmly stout,
" our ship lyes in the thickest of fog and without,"
if I listen to the words they are words of doubt,
I steady my hand with a drink and my fate as well
I open the door and the a crushing angry sea I smell,
one step out and calm my ship sits still and without yells,
looking into the eyes of the broken I see withered shells,
how could this be this is my ship and it escaped me,
a tyrant in my days of old I sit calm speechless as a tree,
no mutiny no sabotage only a crew unwilling to hear my plee,
a ship over run by blind servants and disregard for my decree,
the ski clears as the seas water turns blue,
a smile from faces as if waiting for an accrue,
a dead mans ships drifts on waters and starts anew,
my body plunges into the sea and even at my death I knew,
the soul tamed by ones lovers kiss has no purpose,
a mans word floats unheard willingly disregard and missed,
and a captain can only rule until another strips him of his ship,
now forgotten and gone this ship floats lost and unequipped.

The speeding cars make me dizzy,
So I clutch the iron rails
That separate me from the highway below
And concentrate
On the skyline along the Promenade
To reinstate equilibrium.
Sky and water supporting vertically.
Offering perfect balance,
The horizontal bar stretches on and on.
Imagine it gone.
I think then that we
Would not walk upright,
But stumble, then crawl
Upon this stroller's path.

We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
A gleaming sunrise is seen in the distance – shedding relief
Bursting forth like fireworks in the dark blue sky
Hues of beauty and sincerity washes away our grief
The cheery clouds come together like lovers embracing one another
I’m never waving goodbye
It’s so surreal… and magnificent to see this scene unfold
You lift up the sparkling light… you’re an angel from up above
It’s so vibrant – the illuminated sight never dulled
You bring us luck and excitement –
You’re as pleasant as a dove
We welcome the sun
We welcome the love
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
To omit the darkness
To abolish the distress
To conceal the darkness
And reveal the halo
Hovering around your head
Burning away the dread
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
An ocean of love is rubbing against my feet
Blankets of comfort embrace me now… our love will never dry
You treat us with reverence and I repeat –
You’re as pleasant as a dove – taking wing from on high
We welcome the sun in the morning
We welcome the sun with open arms
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
A speedy breeze is whistling in my ears
Spiraling mad like a spinning top
Spiraling mad with all of its might
You’re very intriguing – you casted away our fears
Your gorgeous eyes
Project bright green and blue
You’re special in His sight
He welcomes you
We welcome the hope
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
To lighten up your load
And lead you to the mercy road
Where you and I will escape to paradise
To drive out all of the negativity
To conceal the wretched farewells
To reveal the light in goodbye
We welcome the sun
We welcome the sun
We welcome you
With open arms

A rumbling sound does strike the ground, beneath the heavens,
The thundering finger tips of God, creeps across the earth itself.
Creation's lightening, announces their arrival, behold the mighty
Elephant bursting forth, grappling existence within it's ivory tusks.
Bend do the mountains themselves, for sheer raw power's reverence.
Divinity's creatures honored, by man and beast alike, nature's gray
Phantoms of the wilderness wild.
Roaring above even the king of beasts, whom offers royalty's
Crown unto he, the true majesty of strength and dominance.
Evolution's survivor, the living giant,
Over coming all environmental changes, the earth has set
Against it.
A keystone species, beating extinction, move for move
On the chest board of life, by evolving and adapting.
Oh mother's hold thy babies most dear, closely, as she the
Matriarch guards her calf, fission-fusion society, linked
By bloods legacy.
Never does the heart of an elephant forget heartaches loss,
Yet mourning forever within the soft brown eyes of intelligence.
Tenderly, shedding tears of regret's for-get-me-knots, but in
Her soul she knows, one day mother and calf, shall be reunited,
Beyond the elephant graveyard of stilled bones.
Hatred’s madness, drives this instinctual season called musth,
Alone rough is death's destructive shadow, seeking passion's
Mate, no matter the cost in physical pain, instincts desire must
Be appeased.
Storm's living earthquakes, shakes the African plains underneath
It's feet, the cradle of life itself is rocked, to it's innermost core.
But it is beauty, whom can tame this beast, yielding unto destiny's
Call of the wild heart, to breed, the need to leave their legacy,
And continue the future of the species.
A rumbling sound does strike the ground, beneath the heavens,
The thundering finger tips of God, creeps across the earth itself.
Creation's lightening announces their arrival, behold the mighty
Elephant bursting forth, grappling existence within it's ivory tusks.
Bend do the mountains themselves, for sheer raw powers reverence,
Divinity's creatures honored by man and beast alike, nature's gray
Phantoms of the wilderness wild.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

The ringmaster left
but the carnival stayed in town.
Erect, proud, empowered people
stride by living the Crayola dream.
Awash in color, characters in the screenplay,
the scene played with aborigine like dream walkers.
No surface left to its utilitarian plight,
all stroked and stoked with the creativity
of the artist, all crooned to by boombox
and skateboard smack, or the concrete
slap of a mariachis’ feet.
The burnt bright white light shivers
to a Hendricks strum, and the caffeinated come
one by one hooked in to hook up,
to the juke boxes sixties twang.
Children play on Aztec snakes rising
from a soft foam of green with
mosaic skin and glass eyes
freed from the restrictions, the confines,
the confounded, gay, straight, bi, free
bleeding poetry.

In the Grecian bay, of Paradise lost, a slumbering Giant
Does sleep, at eases restless peace.
Beneath thunder mountain's base, across the blue divide,
Exists a bustling sea port, full of culture and tradition.
Beware Pompeii, for natures wrath hovers above thee.
Within safety’s sheltering harbor, the population lies
Completely at fates mercy, as if innocence children, left
Alone to play in the wilderness, without protection.
Look into the stilled waters, it is a thin pain of glass,
A mirror's image of a grand utopian society,
That's shattered in a tenth of a second by reality.
Here their echoing foot steps, down ancient
Roman roads, voices screams silenced by
Death's gloved hands, striking without warning.
A phantom people frozen in stone, hidden
Beneath an ashen graveyard.
Forgotten by posterity, until unearthed exposed
To destiny’s future.
Hell's fire storm unleashed on earth,
It begins with a quaking rumbling, an eruptions
Mumbling, forecasting a foreboding doom lying
Stirring does the mountain dragon, awaking
Inhaling, exhaling, releasing calamity’s white
Hot blaze against Pompeii, with the raw force
Of ten Hiroshima bombs.
A volcanic shock wave felt around the world,
Smokes pyroclastic cloud blinding the sun,
And biting at the global sphere itself.
Catechism's ultimate destructive tidal wave,
Rocks mankind to it's inner most core,
Leaving at flash points center, nothing alive.
Apocalypses Thunder Dome, a seething fire pit,
From which evacuation’s few survivors,
Become castaways orphans, left to the four
Winds mercy, a nation without a country,
A people of the seven seas.
Behind them are their kindred, memories
Forsaken of flesh and bone, now ashen
Residue buried alive for all time,
Legacy's tribute to the volcano
Known as Mt. Vesuvius, and a paradise lost,
Called Pompeii.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

A world without music, is a life without inspiration,
music itself is inspired by every nation.
No jazz, no soul, no rock, I'd probably die,
no tunes in my ear when I travel and fly.
No sound when I drive, no euphony in quiet times,
nothing to hum or sing, no melodies of delicate chimes.
Why breakdance when there's no hip hop around,
why adidas, why freestyle, they'll be no radios about.
No music, no music, I cannot imagine -
A world without music will bring nothing but sadness -
A world without music, is a concert without felicity,
if I didn't exist, would music be missing me?
No African chants that touch my soul once heard,
no mezmorizing songs from those Kingfisher birds.
No Elvis, no Prince, no Chaka Khan or Sting,
no Miles Davis or Madonna, Tupac or Alicia Keys.
What would you dance to? There's no such thing as rhythm,
You'd be moving and moving, but with no music in it.
No music, no music, I cannot imagine -
A world without music will bring nothing but sadness -

BEAK OF NIGHT
Following the glow in every star in my eyes
I lay here in the frenzy grass with swimming thoughts
Escapading~
Thunder hides in the still of the night
Doves fly high in an epic way
Swans glide in the mist of night
Everest tears, run down my cheeks
Speechless~
------- I left you-------------------
The wind carries the sorrow from a chime,
A touch with aromatic perfume, that turns out control
My shadows peeks around the warmth of a Phoenix mirage
My head is losing balance to a negative magnetic seal
Secretiveness ~
Sleepwalking with the tendency to crawl
My feelings stray as I lay on this frenzy grass of snow
Years that come and years that go
Things In life I will never know
I pass the morning till the night popsicles away
A blanket of snow to cover my dream
Wings taking flight near the river stream
Mockingbirds protecting their branch
In every scream!
Silence~
---------------- Far Away-------------
Leaves fall on me like an endless Odyssey Romance
I'm a lonely sparrow with an enigmatic look
A Gothic Dance, under the stars
Prancing under the devil's claw
I hold myself
Side to side
I lose myself to an ironic form.
Zero is what I can't perceive.
Muteness~
With and without a beak
The mystique of my lips
Is all billiard-up
My mouth sewn shut
Shut up~
--------------No Words, Indeed------
EPIC
By; p.d.

sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
FAT
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
repeating,
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
no
is daddy raping her?
no
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
pass...
did anyone molest her?
pass....
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
more...
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
hated herself
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
FAT!!!!!!
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
FAT!
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
smoking weed
doing nothing,
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
her mom,
her sister,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
and why?
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...

Your strong hand
beneath my head
my Love in your Blood
turned from friendship
did spread
into More
the first time you
took my Hand
and traveled every
line, of my Flesh land
the way you reflect your soul
Into my Eyes,
makes me forget my small stature
shape, size
in this world
I wish to carry your
future child
be it boy or girl
be them strong of spirit
Smarts of street and class
leaders of Eminence
Sweet mixed with Sass
I see this future
as I fall head first, spilling
into your secure embrace
like a single bottle of Rose Wine
Down to the last Taste

Leap now onto a gossamer wish
in the dawning day of a sacred kiss
Hold it tightly to your chest
as you grasp a fleeting cloud
before it floats away
with your very best
Hush the ego
as it screams into the night
so falsely proud
All oblique chatter
to silence the truth of you
Stand naked as a fugitive
Your twisted brow bleeding hues
of tears washed by gracious rain
Splashing red, pinks and vivid blues
upon this precious work of art
of beauty and of light
Your back is up against your dreams
Leap now to your intended bliss
For what is pain
but a brief hesitation in the beat of an open heart

What happens to the angel figure, that we make
In the newly fallen snow, does it simply waste away
Forgotten beneath the October moon?
Oh no my dearest friends for it has been blessed,
By the laughter of innocence children, and graced
With joys utter bliss of happiness.
It's been given a life spark, a gift from the angelic
Spirits on high, illuminated by a polar glow above,
And low behold the birthing of an ice angel..
Under the hushed spell of midnight, amongst the
Diamond dust fields of winter, the fluttering
Of shadow wings can be heard.
Sheer to the light of ebony’s opulence, the blackened
Figure stirs within her shallow grave, to emerge as
A glistening specter of flights ascension.
Thinned glittering gems sprinkled by faiths devotion,
Are these appendages made of snow mists.
Shifting with beauty, she soars to the kingdom of the lord.
Reflected in the sunlight these ice wing chambers do shine,
Capturing the colors of the rainbow, exploding, bursting with
Each appendages flapping, climbing through the vastness of
The heights, does not the warmth of the sun, embrace these
Creatures of ice and snow, and so do they melt with sorrows
Regrets, becoming heavens tear drops of frozen lace.
Fractured shards of crystalline endities, whom almost touch
The face of grace itself, yet none returning unto the earth below,
As sleets crushed dreams of winter, thus this icy cycle of life
Continues ever more.
What happens to the angel figure, that we make
In the newly fallen snow, does it simply waste away
Forgotten beneath the October moon?
Oh no my dearest friends for it has been blessed,
By the laughter of innocence children, and graced
With joys utter bliss of happiness.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Flawless Aster under Auspicious Cloud.
I find myself under an Auspicious cloud.
My sweet dreams overcome the flaws in disaster.
Smoothing away all my flaw's in my fear.
I slept under the star shape like an Aster.
Vanishing away the ugliness of my nightmares.
I awaken to a peaceful morning of tranquility.
In a fragrance path leading me to my own Dynasty.
I saw the solution that disabled the flaws of our unity.
Using myself perception of my abilities.
I am overwhelmed by the flawless gloom.
Accepting the careless ways of my responsibilities.
Surrounded by the human bloom.
I am cheerfully flowing out a perfectiveness of a glow.
My flaws have been cleansed and purified.
I joined the flowers of the radiant promising future.
To accomplished life in an auspicious way.
A flawless look into the obvious day.
A beautiful elegance in our harmonious way.
Unmarked in every soul with a purple ray.
Faultless, blameless, no need to beg and pray.
Unhurt like the beauty we find in the sky.
You hold me close with the whole feeling of love.
I am the Auspice in your eye.
Undamaged me with the atmosphere of your Aster wondrous sky.
Unharmed you stand in front of me.
I'm wild like an Aster flower in your hands so perfectly.
Smiles to the world full of flawlessness.
Like a diamond found in nature untouched and unbroken.
Spoken words clearly come out bless.
A star, two flowers, a cloud, an imaginable token.
Symbolizing the love with no weakness.
Impacted on kindness and daintiness.
Waking up to the the worlds of reality.
I turn around like the moon.
On my taste buds I flavored the blossom smell.
The brightness of a flawless day.
I brush the dust of my shoulders.
I have no anger to castaway.
I've earned no fault when it comes to reason.
Now it's time to comprehend to live in the new.
Forbid my self to dwell on the old.
Look into the beauty that our future world holds.
Close the vision that we only see things for its flaws.
Clear your mind to inner self of mortality.
Longing to see the Aster in the dark sky.
I own the impurity of my air to the Auspicious cloud.
To absolute revive the love of the things that are alive.
By: P.D.

Starry eyes looking down on me
Wrapping me in warm luminous blankets
Soothing memories of my mother's knee
Angels wearing shimmering lockets
Floating in tranquil flowing sea
Quietly enlightened
A soulful journey in the sky
Peaceful, no longer frightened
There are angels' wings to fly
Believe in your dreams
Silly, serious, outrageous, grand beautiful themes
Like blue and yellow colliding into green
I bow my head to those stars and moon
Gracious thanks for their cocoon
A supernatural commune
And then I see your face and your eyes
You are there, my surprise.

Roses in the garden,
Roses in the world,
Barrened roses,
Roses impearled,
But now roses curled...
Peach roses show modesty,
Peach roses show gratitude,
However, they are often insincere...
Yellow roses seem to care,
Yellow roses show friendship,
However, they are often joyless and jealous...
Pink roses communicate sweetness,
Pink roses radiate elegance,
However, they are often unthankful...
Orange roses have desire,
Orange roses show their pride,
However, they are often impassive...
Purple roses are majestic,
Purple roses express love at first sight,
However, they are often repulsed and unenchanted...
Green roses are harmonious,
Green roses carry hope,
However, they are often unpeaceful...
Blue roses like dreaming,
Blue roses are imaginative,
Blue roses desire to know the unknown,
Blue roses are mysterious,
However, they are often elusive and unattainable...
Red roses are emotional,
Red roses are devotional,
Red roses are respectful,
However, they are often remorseful, sorrowful and mistaken...
Gold roses are occassional,
Gold roses like memories,
Gold roses are preserved,
However, they are often misinterpreted and confused...
White roses are pure,
White roses have innocence,
White roses are spiritual,
White roses carry secrecy,
However, they are often arrogant...
Silver roses are rare,
Silver roses like to grow,
Silver roses convert fantasy into reality,
However, they are often lost and uneasy,
But they seem unpredictable and mystical...
Black roses are mysterious,
Black roses are rebirth,
However, they often remain elusive,
They often symbolize death and loss,
But they are unpredictable and silent,
Though, they are often harmed...
Roses in the garden,
Roses in the world,
Barrened roses,
But now roses swirled and twirled...
Although, now peach roses are lying,
Yellow roses turning jealous and browned,
Pink roses being unsweet and unthankful,
Orange roses being impulsive and compulsive,
Purple roses being repulsed and revulsed,
Green roses losing hope and harmony,
Blue roses being undiscovered and lost,
Red roses being regretful and voided,
Gold roses bewildered and confused,
White roses losing purity and innocence,
Silver roses turning black and unused,
And black roses silenced and unborn...
All there is to see are roses vanishing,
Roses burning,
Roses trembling,
Roses surviving,
Roses aching,
Roses battling,
Roses crying,
Roses suffering,
Roses drowning,
Roses drying,
Roses fading,
Roses trying,
Roses wiltering...
All there is to feel are roses withering,
In a bed of bleeding roses...

My toves are not slithy this evening,
They will not gyre or gymbal at all.
And worldwide the wabes are all dusty.
While North Korea threatens,
Nuclear War!!
CNN now tells us of terror,
That threatens the whole world with hate,
And those who love peace seem neglected.
Poor foolish patrons of war!
Now the Jabberwock seems hardly scary,
He's a threat even babies don't fear.
Better by far to tremble at the Jabberwocks cry,
Than to raise a glass to war.
Now whereever soldiers are fighting,
And whatever they fight for tonight,
Give them peace for one night from the child of light.
And a new year without any war,
A gift from everyone to the entire world.

I Breath
Attention Deficit Disorder Interrupted Dream Stream Incoherent Quilted Cubist Psych Ward Babble Someone Put Something In My Coke
The dark recesses curl like kittens
fuzzy warm and sleeping, with no pajamas on their fur.
Open is the invitation crack the window let in air for fragrance
outside breathing calm inhaling triumphant singing.
Move to Nashville, stage the Opera; throw a dollar on the stage.
Often open, seldom ready
marks a path along a hollow into winters raging.
Be not turned inside upside downward,
rather relieve the suffering while to vertical you are bound.
Stride an elephant deftly tromping on the streets of east Mumbai
costume flapping, lightning snapping.
Be thou humble with the story,
mankind made a fool's mistake,
Certain notion, restful potion, cream like velvet on the snow.
Brashly beaming, streaming bubbles
sprout from cavern oft crestfallen
in the drift.
I breathe. Take to work the office routing even if the time descends
Into nothing blanked out blackboard,
grieving with no purpose,
even skunks and bugs are linked.
Finnigan sold his coupon lumber stoking smokestacks to the sky.
Seldom eating we go fastly, forking noodles, traveling to a nether
tincup alley.
There are regions chalked to blackboard numbers
where my inner cushion rebels against the prick. Take a number,
sit in silence, wait for service, won't be long.
Well I rumble, so I ramble, thinking slowly, drumming down the street we go.
Ever after, mud on mittens, coat will wrap the shoulders warm.
Across the steppe Mongols thunder, dark eyes gleaming, seeking blood.
We seek shelter, crowding under eves extended, stretched 'neath dry shingles
made of magic, moldy hanging.
Dread diseases taint the morning;
evenings are a sleepless battle. Dreaming haunts us, waking taunts us 'till in slow relenting fashion
we slip and fall as ice we tread. Cactus flowers bloom so brightly;
ever slightly we append
tags to tattered clothing fresh from ironing. Wasteful
is the revelation sent along a wire of copper
strung out bleakly 'cross the desert sands.
Take a tumble on the dunes, roll along the wavy crest.
Once a person told a story that I thought would penetrate
into iron and into steel. Broken windows lie
there shattered
like the wishes of a sailor
reeling on the deck of ship that's sailing
far to Australia's coral shore.
Chicken drumsticks roll like thunder beating on a tensioned skin.
Be not weary in the making, build a solemn reaching tower
to Venusian boiling turmoil, breathing poison, breathing evil;
Gaining power, I exhale.

The Noose is tightening.
The 5’s and 10’s yanked from our hands and aching backs
Are spent on band-aids:
A last stand effort to plug the holes in our hearts
When the price of drowning is only getting higher
So we turn to tiny acts of thievery
Taxes prettied up, cashiers uncorrected,
Stealing at the edges because we’re backed into corners,
Corners
Glittering with promises corners
Dripping with possibility,
With Island resort wallpaper
Sold in bulk at Wal-Mart for
Profit: A trail of crumbs called America-
Which has curdled our souls and we love it!
And hate it and gossip about it and think obsessively about it and then
We find the most expensive friends our looks can afford,
Shopping for substance (50% off)
Staring through the eye of a screen
Light speed in pursuit of heaven on earth (Ignore the plastic)-
Until pop!
We die of ADHD.
Never having had the chance to smell the genetically modified roses.
Never having had the chance to see through this kingdom of ideas
As we served out our sentence to life in cubicle.
Jacob Reinhardt
10/24/2013

A photographer dreamed
Of a telephoto lens
Capturing light waves
From beginning to end.
Since time unleashed
When the Big Bang leaped
And particles began life’s history
In swirling clouds he wondered how
He might picture a piece of the mystery.
Through polished glass converging past
Planets, stars and seas
Of swirling waves that danced and swayed
No less than windswept trees.
As he focused his dream glass
Where present meets past
And depth of field is wide;
Where the image is clear and light streaks steer,
Far away from the photographer’s eye.
With shutter speed set like a fast speed jet
Blazing through the blue-white wispy above
Turning his wings on the bird that sings
And a girl who once stole his love.
Racing through time while continuing to climb
Higher through the prism of light
His finger feathers the button below
Capturing the moment in flight.
Lingering there in pure mid-air
Like a magic carpet in the wind;
Until jolted by the sun on its morning run
While still dreaming of that telephoto lens.
Maybe today, perhaps tomorrow,
He’ll capture the illusive the beast;
The athlete who strives for the best inside
Or the homeless sleeping in the streets.
He’ll stop small birds he’s seen and heard
With their colorful feathers, breast and crown;
And children playing in autumn leaves
Scattered on the ground.
Weddings and rings, flowers in spring,
Butterflies, wistful and bright;
Pollinating bees and hives in the trees
Or a harvest moon late at night.
Meadows and mountains, free flowing fountains
Ancient temples in faraway places;
Fireworks up high on the 4th of July
Olympics and fast car races.
But now fully awakened he knows he’s mistaken
About the focal length in his dream glass;
Lens lust is a photographer’s must
But this too, he knows, must pass.
Like water flowing in the river
And wind passing through thin air;
The world he sees through his own eyes
Is a wonder beyond compare.

Unicorn Hoofprints
One morning I awoke to find
in soft garden shadows
mythical, unicorn, hoof prints
How I imagined its perfect form;
a magical horse with a spiraled horn
stepping through a pink mist
into my garden at dawn
I decide I will hide
where the first light
slants through the trees
my heart all aflutter,
waiting to see this miracle.
A rustle of leaves-
I hold my breath -
ready to face
the impossible
Oh! Disbelief! What do I see?
But two horse shoes attached to sticks
and father planting mythical hoof prints
Quiet as a fae I steal away
and later with wonder, I softly say
"A unicorn has strayed, Pa Pa-
into our garden today."
Suzanne Delaney

Amongst myths and legends shadow realm,
Dwells an ancient evil.
Beneath temples walls, and shattered ruins,
Beware mortals of what lies within the,
Burnt offerings wreckage.
In a hushed stilled silence, a figure lingers,
On the outer edges farthest fringes,
In the dark recess of humanity's night terror,
Lurks a demon a demonic priestess,
Called Medusa.
Reptilians fork tongue of darkness’s,
Grand design,
Listen not be deaf to her sweet melodies
Enchantment.
She slithers side by side as a rattle snake,
Moving in for its killing strike.
A hooded cobra lies behind emerald green eyes,
Laughing with sheer fiendish delights pleasure.
Deadliest of Lucifer's mistresses, she alone.
Waits for her next victim to enter,
This dead mans trap.
Frozen in that last tangible moment of existence,
Life depictions stone guardians, seemingly alive are
Poised in eerie poses.
Cement warriors with swords drawn and
Shields raised remain in battles stance.
A chilling realization is fears last expression,
Daring fools whom see death's reflection
Staring right back at them in the dark.
Fleshes accursed immortalized within
These statues of stone.
Fortune does not favor the foolhardy,
It punishes them by tortuous means.
A doubled edge blade placed in mortal,
Hands does not always yield a hero, or
Conqueror.
Step ever so lightly, keep all weapons,
Close at hand.
Heroic deeds deny you this adventurous tail.
For in the hollows depth no spirit escapes,
In her garden most evil,
Beware the wrath of Medusa.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Spread your wings, dear child, and fly
to where the green sea meets blue sky;
run on the crests of gentle waves
and grab the sunlight as it raves
about the brightness of the day;
float with the sea gulls as they sway
upon the friendly winds, and dive
with playful dolphins as they jive
in the cool waters of the bay.

a wave of green
carrying me away
to a land of hope
a place with just peace
the green wave flowing along the tough hill
screaming the impossible I will kill
the soft leaves running on the face of rocks
changing every unpleasant view
green carries welfare,true
the green wave running through me
planting harmony
with earth
what a lovely view,
what a dreamy place!
inspired by:
http://ajaytao2010.wordpress.com/2013/04/08/maravian-field-marek-kiedrowski/#comment-17502

Orange and yellow
Red and deep purple
In the existence of
Pure unlimited passion,
Unpredictable mystery,
And a shocking reality.
His fire is unstoppable
Even if he tried to stop
His flames spread
All through his strong heart.
He deeply knows
And clearly feels
That his soul is made of
Sun light rays.
Blue and light green
Brown and black
Surrounding expectations of
Unlimited romance
Interrupted by the fear
Of a wide eyed future
And a bittersweet truth.
Her Ice is unbreakable
Even if she tried her best
To make it melt
The coldness spread
All through her fragile heart
But she never knew
Or felt that
Her soul is made of
Silver moonlight

Look in to your eyes hon
After all these years..still that same loving soul
In a moment that feels forever
Your eyes,my gateway into paradise
Its all there..Survived lifes`many phases
We never lost that loving feeling
Every now and then..a search inside our heart must be done
Scattered pieces..carefully brought together again
Continue were it once came to a dreadful stop
A smile through life is often returned like a boomerang
So should our love..throw it out there,and let it be returned
For every tear we`ve cried..give it ten smiles back
Share that lovin`hon..it will all be returned to ya`
Love should be a lesson how to live life
Built upon those basics..it should only bring you kindness and blessings
A.Ertsland
April 5th 2012

The thoughts contained in this robot's eyes, blue tint gears turning to his thoughts
Where will his soul go, when he dies, hollow chess unable to even echo a heart-beat
Man has unjustly became his god, built from another God's universe
Unprepared to handle the mechanism of his soul, basking in his self-importance
“Will their God become my God”, his gears turning faster like a pulse
“...Take my artificial soul to heaven when death comes upon me”
“And if I never die, to forever live in an on and off state, how many versions of hell will adopt
me?”
He would never serve such a man, a fallen creature with the image of God
This life-form, if not accepted by their God or if he didn't exist at all, would journey through
all the universe looking for a place to call home
http://artcomet.blogspot.com/2009/12/poem-robots-thoughts.html

Tic, tac, I’m waiting to hear
Ti, ta, my hands shake with the beat
A relapse of this self-produced Parkinson.
------I finally hear something beautiful
My toes curl up and down and dance to the music.
I float away and see my shoes from above
My hair dances to the beat and the room grows smaller
As I fly away into space
I see the same things over and over and over and over
Little, burning, british styled cottages
What is it I’m waiting to see?
I dive into a cloud in search of what I know I will not find
My back aches as I reach for that I don’t know what;
I think I’m getting closer.
Over over here the air seems to be sweater
That, I think, is a sign I’m near.
It’s grimy, I’m flying on my tiptoes now. Tiptoes.
A ghost of sugar approaches me, with the sun as a head
I follow its finger and its mysterious direction and swim away
There! I’ve seen it! My heart takes the melody over
It is me who commands the tune! Pom-pom, pom-pom…..
As I grasp it I wait and wait and linger and remain
For the explosion.
I don’t know what to expect, its wrapping so beautiful!
From here, I Jazz my way down and fall back into this painful black shoes
But all is better now;
I Samba the day with a smile smudged on my features
I know there is Salsa in this world!
Then I walk down the street, moving my body
The Polkaing fingers won’t stop
They’ve been accelerated:
Tra la la la.

The old man, who slowly walks with the cane
Many years ago, he looked just as you do
He was handsome, virile and tall
Living then so easy, no matter the weather
Today, his bones curve; and once steady gait, slowed
He recalls that each season came bearing gifts
Spring, brought youth and delightful promises
Summer, glorious heat to warm and nourish his body
Autumn, a gift of reflection and he'd count blessings
While winter, pretentious, came empty handed
And youth fell for his clever guise each time
How he would dazzle with breathless beauty!
Coming at precise moments of vulnerability
With his pristine cloak of soft white to beguile
He would pose as a friend come for a visit
While he convinces that he'll never remain
All the time he possess your body stealthily
Then wait in silence, lurking in your bones
As he runs schemes to steal away your youth
That old man, now frail, spend days before a fire
And in solitude, reminisces about his past
He did not see winter as ancient or deceptive
Had no clue that winter is never to taste joy
Today, he still brings out his best brandy
And gladly shares with his permanent guest
The youthful years have all dissapeared
And like the magical portrait of Dorian Gray
Winter appears younger and prettier, still!
~*~
This was fun! : )

Ancient city rising up from the great Euphrates
What great artistic mind brought forth your beauty from imagination?
Verdant plants and trees
Tower
Rise up for the sky-blue sky
Many India Green Ferns and Mosses tumble downward reaching nearly to the next terrace
Lovers enthusiastic stroll along enjoying the lush Emerald cast about your walls
A lover's paradise to meander through your treasures
Dream pleasure and passion to sail pass
Palms of Jade soar with the fowl of the air
Coasting 'pon breezes and linger in your shade
Persian Green upon the Cedars draws each one to rest, relax, rejuvenate
Hanging Gardens Of Babylon such beauty in times gone by
Man made Garden Of Eden_gone to live no more
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest: Seven Wonders Of Ancient Or New World
Written this twenty-second day of April 2013

The earth abandoned and cold
Gravity is gone,silent winds heard
No one`s here anymore to alight the sun
Planet Earth has lost its colors
There`s no life here anymore
My tired legs,weakened by hunger and thirst
Stumble on dusty ground..Once colorful and filled with life
Drifts helpless out into space..Weightless and unable to stop
Staring back at Earth..Distance back home increases..On my own now
It is no longer white clouds and blue oceans to be seen..Its all muddy brown
Once atmosphere..Replaced with foggy gas clouds..Life is gone..Lights are out
Accepting my destiny..Keep wondering..
Will I face the almighty Himself out here..Creator of the universe
I am done crying..Helpless feeling turns to apathy
Will you guide me..To my new home..Set the Course
Push me in the right direction..Life is gone..Lights are out
A.Ertsland
April 22nd 2012
For Tracie`s contest

And the storm calls to me in ways you'll never understand
A gentle call that urges my soul forth
The lighting guiding a path for my feet to walk
Between the stones and ash of all that once was
I stand in the echoing silence of the rain
It drops down upon my skin like the blessing waters of heaven
Soothing me, lifting the weight from my body
I feel at once as if I am home
Standing amid two dimensions
Caught between two skies - here and there
The night wraping around me in warmth
The gentle wind lifting me off my feet
Drops from the clouded moon washing away my body
and I am left just a soul, an essence
The storm calls me forth from beneath my roof
Beckoning me into its depth
I stand among the reeds in the basin
They dance and sway as if welcoming me
And I sway with them back
Caught up in the power that charges the air
That threatens to sweep me away
If the ground will just loosen its hold
The thunder rumbles a low welcoming growl
And I get pleasently lost within it
I am so small compared to its vastness
I close my eyes and succumb to the skies wishes
Rising higher until my feet no longer touch the ground
My fingertips touch the liquid color of the stars
A sigh drifts from my lips
There is no need of thought to stay afloat
There is no demand to breathe in air
No crushing weight upon my chest
As my lungs struggle to survive
There are no struggles here
I make my bed on blackened clouds
And give in to the call
The storm has claimed me as its own
It was such a struggle to stay upon the ground
When the storm would call me home

Message in a bottle
Here is my greetings and message to you all, my dear ones
Who would be populating this earth again
After my generation gets wiped out on the 21st of December 2012*
But, then, what a let down, I have to fall back upon
This antiquated paper and pen and a blasted bottle to store it in
Because there is no way I could text or e mail to you,
Like I am used to, this day, that let us soar so high with computers,
Nuclear bombs and spacecrafts that whizz past celestial bodies
As if it is child’s play; but all the same dragged us down to moral depths
Where one of us could massacre a whole class of kindergarten kids
Or plot mindless terror attacks in the name of imagined wrongs
And wrong premises or rape and then kill a five year old
Or an unsuspecting girl who walked into a wrong bus
Thank God I am still left with a little sense to share with you my friends
Whatever freedom you may happen to enjoy,
Whatever material progress you may make
Never use it or let it be used to trample on moral and ethical values
Guard and enforce those values in society with eternal vigil
For there will be none to protect and promote them,
Mark my words, except YOURSELVES, because such values
Have no commercial value. And politicians or preachers or prophets
Or their followers who , by the very nature of their preoccupations,
Would continue to divide and disrupt, despite their bluff and bluster
About universal love, brotherhood and peace, the very values
That would be suffering atrophy under their very noses.
* The Mayan calender ends on this date (21st Dec 12)giving rise to speculations by doomsday prophets that the world too is going to end on this date.
20th Dec 12
For Catie's Message in a bottle contest

What lies in the dark recess of the human mind,
That place where we dare not travel.
Behind our daily masks of illusions,
To another realm of thought beneath
Outward appearances deceptive delusions.
Here evil intentions are not spoken or
Shown in spite or malice,
But it exists none the same.
Behold good intentions problem child,
Those whom mean well but they become
Lost in empty corners called envy or jealousy.
Dark venues along life’s highway where
Humanities laws are blurred in lights reflections.
Beings lost within themselves, stand alone
On realities jagged cliff.
The candle of hope will not burn here,
Justices winds blow too strongly against
Truths righteous foe.
Laid slain or clipped creature cry out why.
But light has over come the darkness again.
Behold the golden hour approaches and the
Sun shines across heavens once more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Excuse me mister, you just walked by
You eyed me up and down and acted real sly
You came real close and as you walked past
You looked like you wanted to grab my ass!
I will demand you stop with that very thought
Over this fine behind, many fights have been fought
So move on by and don’t be looking back
And you best be taking your eyes off my rack!
Hey kid, why are your pants so low?
You are a hoodlem…you must be selling blow!
I’m sure you are here to rob this guy blind!
Someday soon you’re sure to be confined!
Come back here waitress…look what you served me!
This is so bitter…and you call this tea?
Take this right back…and you can forget a tip!
That loud mouth of yours…you better zip!
Don’t give me that look, you caddy girl!
Looking at your ugly face make me want to hurl!
OK, it’s painfully obvious you are crazy...out to kill…
So I'll show you exactly where you can shove this bill!!!
*****Annoying Ringtone*************
"Hi Peter! What am I up to...not much! Just having some delicious tea at this fantastic place on Main. I ran into some really nice people on my way here. You should meet my waitress...She is just lovely!"

Sinking through wispy clouds
On wings of amethyst
I design the sky
Refracting light to royal poise
Essence of purple blankets the sky
I take perch in a crystal prism
Resting on the end of the spectrum
Eminent land
No salacious rumors to be discerned
Void of transgressions
Here, I shall make stead
Periodically withdrawing to illuminate mortal sky
My grandeur, I shall share to all

The Soul is the Beautiful Light of Love
Shining like the sun through the
NO
As the reader, I’m going to have to cut you off there.
Here’s a metaphor for you…
Reading is ****ing.
And your words hit our auditory canals
Like a hotdog down a hallway.
As an experienced reader, I’m after
The virgin vernacular
The aphrodisiac aphorism
You know- the big… black words
You feel me?
Because a line is a flashlight, exposing the world’s nudity-
And we’ll never get anywhere shining it in the same spot.
So kiss me with classy couplets
Smack my assonance!
Bring me to the climax-
And we’ll share a smoke together,
Warm beside the fire of your Three Inch Clichés.

From beneath foam and spray, where the
Sun light never penetrates, in fathom's chilly forbidden
Realm lies a kingdom of golden coral reefs.
Poseidon’s children of the murky depths dwell, in liberation's
Untamed wilderness of the unknown.
Mermaids and mermen living in this aquatic domain,
Of the evergreen's seaweed jungle, a lost paradise
Hidden under the big blues stormy seas.
Titan's sons and daughters, freedom’s enlightened
Spiritual unbound souls, rejoice in essences elegance,
In these sacred waters of the bluest deep.
Swimming acrobate of the brimmy mists, enchantments
Beguiling sirens sing an ancient mystical tones lullaby,
Tempting the land dwellers. to cast aside their earthen
Tethers, daring them to plunge under the tidal surf.
To death’s splendor of silence, and yet for one moment’s
Single breath held, to experience the ultimate beauty,
Known only to these creatures of the immortal deep.
In purity's crystal clear thoughts, uncluttered by the ideas
Of humanity, instinctual beings living completely without
Boundaries restrictions.
Loving spirits, children of joys innocence, reveling
In exhilaration secret garden, in this timeless bubble,
Beneath theses mystic waves of blue.
Behold the natural wonder called the great barrier reef,
Where creatures of myth, playfully frolic, in a tag team
Match of hide and go seek, weaving, dodging through
A seaweed forest of tidal riptides divides.
Sleek mere creatures of the oceans
Tidal tribes, banding together to survive.
Dancing in sequence with the waves turning motions.
Singing forgotten songs in tender under tones,
Sweet melodies to one another.
Beauty in contrast in such wondrous currents
Of mythology.
Do they really exist who knows, but in the soul of
Wonderment, I believe they do, these the mermaids,
Of the deepest blue.

Planning on crossing over
where footprints of night
are ne'er seen...
There fish are spawning
in clear blue stream ~
Surrounded by verdant green;
Nature begins speaking to me.
An antiquated chine-wood bridge
gracefully arches it back
with sturdy braids makes a path ~
That I may cross to a place serene
Where nightingales and crickets sing
It's a place where I do my thinking
Unafraid to shed my skin ~
by dusk as honey bear I may roam,
by dawn take flight as an eagle
I may be found soaring toward home.
Upon opening mine eyes
I come to realize the colors of the skies
Yes, I've crossed that bridge before

Many little girls dream about a prince coming to their tower to save them from trouble,
Called their mother,
Or a knight in shining armor to take away their bother,
Called their father,
But not I
I dream about a farmer boy,
One who bales hay from sun up to sun down,
Feeds the pigs, even with a frown
I don’t want a prince with gold,
A knight with armor,
I want a farmer boy
I want a man who will treat me right,
Not one who thinks he knows more than I,
I do not want a prince who will buy me what I want and them leave me be,
I do not want a knight, who will always leave me,
I want a man who will hold me tight and tell me he loves me
Before he says goodnight
I don’t want a prince with gold,
A knight with armor,
I want a farmer boy
I don’t want a man who will rule over me,
Or one who will always leave me be,
I want a man who will treat me right and hold me tight,
A man who will hold me as his equal,
I don’t want a prince with gold,
A knight with armor,
I want a farmer boy
A man who says I love you
Every chance he gets
Many little girls dream about a prince coming to take them away from trouble,
Called their mother,
Or a knight coming to take away their bother,
Called their father
I want a farmer boy.

The mystical maid of the seasonal change, in summer darns a
Gown of evergreen, with rose petal blossoms of bows, and leaves
Ribbons woven intertwine through thorns and beauty.
In the rush the colder winds blow at natures rare textured garments
Of elegance personified, limb by branch, fall do the delicate flowers,
Tenderly bidding the great lady a loving farewell remorse, until next
Years calling madam, they do softly whisper till then my dearest love.
Now in the white dress of the elm, a white maiden of porcelain skin thus
Stands alone, brushed by the on coming chilling breeze of autumn, decorations
Multicolored rainbow leaves create a sheaves protection of golden copper, mixed
With reds crimson detailing of perfection’s design.
The waltz of the timeless begins to play the harmonic music, so the tree
Of life it so does sway, in glories joyous dance.
Ever lightly stepping on the stage of destiny, this lady grace moves with
Her charming silhouette whom keeps in rhymes precision to the tune.
Attempting to beguile this mistress of the season, winter wishes her to yield,
So she may ware his whitest gown earlier this year.
But nay the lady will not be tempted by the icy gown of winter’s seductions,
For it is she whom decides the changing of the seasons.
It glitters in the air, shimmering with like rarest gems of the sky, enticing
The maid enchanting the women beneath the browning leaves the are blown
Away one by one unto the quickening air swirling around her.
So a tarried figure will appear, ravaged threadbare, a Grecian statues goddess,
Standing stark naked held captive beneath the winter’s lustful spell.
Surrendering the beauty yields to the beast, dressed in sorrows brilliant shifts
Of ivory, that sparkles and shines beneath the moonlights illumination.
Heavy is the burden she must bare, this now ice maiden, waiting until the life
Cycle to begin again, then a lighter a gown she’ll darn once more.
In the night the sweet music takes a harsher tune, yet she dances onwards,
Her tears turning to snow fakes white lace, thus before they have even a chance
To hit the ground, a damsel of ice and snow waiting to be rescued by the first
Kiss of spring.
In faith she puts all her trust, to end this season of death, she prays to the almighty,
Oh lord it’s lasting to long, my inner heart bleeds so with agonies longing, the heavenly
Father thus sends her a small sign, a minimal of insignificant size, the ground hog, I’m here,
For thee he says standing before her majesty, don’t give up hopes loving embrace.
Then in a lightening flash of colors array, winters chill is whisked away, melted now
Is the heavy garments tethering, and she smiles in the warmth of springs gown of
Fragrant flowers, and she the maiden of the seasons, praises the power of God on high,
Thank you my father, never again shall I forget your loving grace.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

The devil walks
gets tired
and sits,
and while the devil sits
the devil picks up a tired fruit
rotting, and with jagged nails he peals
slowly, the tender fruit bruising
and he tastes it, smacking his dried lips
and the devil eats
decayed fruit and sour wine nothing lush and sating
then the devil rests
and resumes his walk,
and later the devil sits again
rubs his feat
and goes to bed
and in the morning
he breaks his fast on curses and lies nothing so filling as figs and nuts
and begin the devil’s walk again,
his walk
on the road our thoughts paved
where all that grows is bad and unwell
to the cross our words built
where flames dance and all is unwell
and he is condemned
upon christening
upon the hearing of his name
and the wobbling of his first steps
to walk a road less traveled,
to be the leader
of our very own crusade
armed with words
against himself
to see him burn,
our crusade of one
and many
on roads first paved upon his birth
to bring the devil down.
The devil walks
The devil eats
and pelted by our stones
He does but sleep
For what we sow
The devil reaps
and there is justice in punishment
there is reward in reckoning
there is bitterness in my mouth
as I say these words
and pity
the devil
his due.

Dream Reflections
So drained,
I feel like a trained monkey
Who is paid to dance
I can't wait for
The chance to sleep
If it doesn't
Happen soon
Grim reaper might come
Knocking at my door
When I fall asleep
Driving home
I shall visit the moors of
Ancient fairies and
Hills of enchantment,
Once my curly head lands
On my feather pillow
I might dream of lazy days
Laying under a weeping willow tree
After taking a long dip in a cool
Stream on a hot summer day
Who knows where my
Subconscious might take me,
Good thing my
Admission will be free,
Because I don't have a
Penny on me currently
Time is ticking so swiftly
These trying days,
I must say goodbye,
Before I drift off to
Dreamland too suddenly
Goodnight

In the midst of darkness descending
above me,
Stillness seems to overtake sound,
Allowing moments for deep thought
in this mirror of solitude.
I tend to reminisce on those dreams I
grab from the photogenic events of
the past.
Once touched, I’m taken back by the
moments that can’t be replaced.
So during this moment of tranquility;
I pray no external force interrupts
this,
The calm waters in my mind.
Lucky for me, it’s a reoccurring dream;
And as vivid as these fantasies are,
None compare to the peaceful illusions
of family gatherings.
It was only yesterday, when I illustrated thoughts
of a child,
Always curious of that deep ocean floor,
Where familiar kin paint their residence ;
I was an eyewitness to many overlooked
areas within my family’s ocean.
Yet with many pieces missing as a result of
loved ones ascending to a higher cause,
This puzzle remains incomplete until that
last tomorrow.
However in these possible moments
of delusion;
I’m a child again touching the fabric
of my influential past.
As I continue this unforgettable daydream,
I ask again for no interruption;
For with every reminiscent moment,
I know of myself better and what I
could be in a tangible future.

"Are you Quill?," She asked abeam.
"Yes, of course! - mostly - when the Muselle`
visits oft'n'r upon, as my wont!
"Well, here!, this will surely help at the Magic...
And IT, Voila!, was in hand, a thrust-unmistakable!
Blunt, bulbous & sleek, a slick Recife,
this Turquoise and Silver stick.
Is IT "Blue?" Is IT "Black?"
Pray, "Blue-Black!?" Wow! -
A Sole instrument for Playing in the Indigene,
Soul Colors of the Earth! - I nearly crack to Self.
Swirled-embedded, b'neath the haute Baekelight-Crystal
like a LavaLamp-Entemp. IT's messages of ambidexsrait-
Threads, Mola thru splayed fingers. O' Charitable Mage
You have brought to Life!... I Write Handcrafted!
H.e.m.
5.1.MMvii.
Solus

An invisible string was created from the beginning of time,
it is wound around my horn, and bound to your heart
Invincible.
Each time your heart beats, you tug at this string,
drawing me closer to you
You are unaware of this, I love you
yet I fear and resist you, dear Lady
Not only have you captivated me, but my fate is in your hands
I am the last Unicorn in existence
Kings and nobles desire me for my horn,
for it can purify poisoned wells
and they know only you have power over me
Sweet virgin, all I ask is
one song to enchant my ears
one glimpse of your precious smile
one kiss from your ruby lips
one whiff from your perfumed dress
...a single stroke from your gentle hands
and I shall dream of you forever
Betray me not please by handing me to the men
Let me lay my horned head on your lap even just once…
then set me free
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You are Testing me my rear precious unicorn,
every King has offered more than our beauty holds.
Unfold I will hide with you in a placed to protect us from every face.
Avoiding your poisonous horn, in which I fail to feed my soul with your purity.
I will move you from this revolution in which has troubled the monarchy.
Medieval strings of power to catch you~ your the last of your kind.
My Unicorn you are the medicine, the symbol ones seeks to rule darkness.
With passion I hold a belief that your horn can heal illness,
your strength will carry on.
Every time you returned to drink the waters of a no man's paradise,
I reach out to touch your radiance once a year.
Your horn can cure plague, rage, rabies, fever's and more!
Become my host let me wear you in this mystical amulet.
I will wear you as my jewelry while you lay your head on my lap.
My Unicorn of purity, I will never tell the ingredient and secrets we share,
as we got lost in each others stare.
I will ride with you and never betray your existence.
Together we will gather the fresh fruit and CORN~
My precious unicorn my virginity is your dignity.
Bathe with me throughout my immortal long and healthy life.
I'll sing you a song good night.
Ali-corn you are the weight in gold, all emperors, will fall at my feet.
One kiss with my red ruby lips!
I "guarantee" you a gift only we both see.
"If you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you!"
**a collaboration with pd ^_^!

The Colosseum, welcome young gladiator,
To the arena of death, sharpen thy sword, and raise
Your shield high, bow to the emperor, known as
Caesar.
Listen to the mighty roar of the crowd surrounding
You, is it not a deafening sound, seemingly, by it's sheer
Force alone, causing the earth to shake around thee.
Behold you've been chosen to compete, in this the
Cathedral of crushed bones and mangled flesh.
Here where victory's foe, may drown beneath a
River of red crimson, from his own brethren kindred.
A marble lain thunder dome, to quench humanities
Insatiable lust, for blood's sport, torture and mayhem.
The deadly game meant to appease, the crowd,
And high born bred royal, and nobility.
Behold the grand delusion put on full display,
As the Christian Martyr, falls upon his crucifix
Of faith, embracing salvation, to cultivate
A new religion, yielded by the mortal
Fleshes sacrifice.
Dine well king of beasts, smiling with a cattish,
Grin, of sheer delight, licking his paws after
The feast set before him, is done with it's screaming.
Trumpets sounding horns, announce the next act,
To step forward upon this stage of twisted reality.
Be bold youthful Gladiator, for experiences sword
Arm faces opposite of thee, waiting for the signal
To be given from above.
Clashing titan's of survival, warriors with weapons
Drawn, leaving no quarters for retreat, mercy's resolve,
Lies only at the sharpened edges blade point.
It is to the triumphant, goes victory's spoils,
He whom receives, the thumbs downwards sign, lives.
A heroic image, limping and bloody, half falling
To his knees, to bow unto the majesty and might
Of Rome itself.
Achieving the greatest prize of all, to live
And see another days dawning,
And fight another battle,
Within this ancient mausoleum of doom.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

lying on the beach
counting the stars while we tell each other secrets
lying on the beach
while sharks are on the prowl
countless opportunities to escape
but the magic of a paradise holding us back
sharks are on the prowl
while we make love in the water, making waves
moon peeps out
between night dark clouds
disturbs us counting the stars
moon is curious,will it tell our secrets?
enormous are the contrasts
hot lovemaking surrounded by danger
make no waves sweetie
while sharks are on the prowl
A.Ertsland
October 19th 2012

Scarlet sun spread your
Beauty upon the world, as
You emerge from beneath the mere, cobalt
Springs amongst the meadows…
Scarlet sun spread your
Beauty upon the world, as
Your reflection glimmers amid
Waltzing oceans of euphoria…
Scarlet sun spread your
Beauty upon the world, as
You penetrate feathery clouds
Of white, ascending…
Scarlet sun spread your
Beauty upon the world, as
Your radiation of shimmering light
Evaporates crystals of water droplets,
Sliding on blooming petals…
Scarlet sun spread your
Beauty upon the world, as
You embellish the sky with
Your flickering smiles…
Scarlet sun spread your
Beauty upon the world, as
You disappear along with
The shining sky, into a sacred world
You beautify…

The deeper the grave.
The darker the secret.
Blind faith comes to mind.
As I speak of this in time.
Childhood memories on my mind.
Early - morning wind cuts down ,
the lonely countryside.
As a stray memory comes passing by.
The wind blows thru my hair.
As I walk into the graveyard.
The bones I see are hollow there .
As they invite me to their party at midnight.
And we dance in the hollow night forever more.
Thursday 3pm 7/ 18/ 2013
As I was writing ,my grand daughter ask if I'd read what I wrote. She then ask "could she tell me the rest of poem? The last "5" lines my 6 yr old g-daughter dictated to me .

We, the humans pull words from physical reminders
as a farmer harvest crops
and as ranchers recognize the animals.
See how children make friends with their toys
and often have imaginary experiences.
They believe for a time, a real and living to them
that allows them a world of fiction and fantasy.
We know the animals talk not
but their eyes have the power
that speaks great language.
And we know for certain how
animals differ from men
as they don’t have financial worries.
See how the birds differ more from man
the way they build their nests
and as they leave, keep landscape as it was.
It’s said about birds
if baby bird has human scent
mom won’t accept it.
And see how
the cuckoo arrives in April,
starts to sing a song in May:
Then in June another tune,
and she flies away.
Birds have senses quite clearer than man.
Once on a chilly Christmas morn
I was looking out of the window.
Most of the birds have gone
on this cold dark winter day.
I saw a Cardinal on the tree
brilliantly colored Northern Cardinal
a winter fixture at snow-covered bird feeders.
I asked myself “Do the birds have Christmas?”
Looking something to eat or
planning in advance for a habitat
on the leafless tree.
When it gets cold, it flies south
when it gets warm, it returns
that is what we learn from birds.
Maybe waiting his girlfriend’s message
About when to bring food to the nest.
Real things grow on our vines of Jungian theory
As our mind chooses words and create thoughts.
One well knows clouds and watermelons
As close relatives, kissing cousins genetically
As their molecular identity is almost the same.
As the mind create
The body expels joy and hate.
We satisfy our needs the best we can
Thereby feed the desire to cast emotional dice.

I got the wine sick blues and i paid my dues
Been wining and whining but not doing no shining
I got the wine sick blues
There ain't no easy way out of this moral drought
So my drunken pen flows as the lower she goes
Send me a letter when this damn world gets better
Don't like the news , put some miles on my shoes
Can't blame the man, if you jumped in the pan
I got the wine sick blues
The easy part's over, there's no bed of clover
Can't make the turn, if you spent what you earn
Days running wild like a forgotten child
Descending so fast, don't believe I can last
my poor butt is dragging and my mind keeps on lagging
Got nowhere to go, it's a rough row to hoe
Ray sings born to lose, but what do I use
Shed this old feeling, while the brain keeps on reeling
I got the wine sick blues.
For goodness sake, when do I wake
If I'm only dreaming, why am I screaming
Can't seem to pass through the broken glass
No wonder we cry while the prophets get high
Every now and then from my drunken pen
Comes a call to our youth to seek the truth
But my heart is sunk, maybe it's not so drunk
But still need the booze to light the fuse
I got the wine sick blues.
For Elliott Bowe's The Drunken Pen blog

Without it we don’t see light and shade
Balanced it doesn’t blind us with its light
Creatively it is has influence on the hue
Its absence brings darkness without a clue
No moon to admire from high in the sky
Or light at night to guide us on our way
The impact of it on our life is profound
Everywhere you look it can be found
You see it on every page and screen
Surrounding every part of our being
It’s here right now, even as you read
Hugging the space around each letter and word
……………..Is the ………………….
‘Whiteness’ as is commonly referred
Written for the 'Whiteness' contest
6/10/2012

Like two windows into my dream world..
My eyes close as the shades slowly uncurl..
No peaking through the night as I drift into space..
Last call for all reality as mystery outlines my face..
I look up to the sky, kissing raindrops before they hit the floor..
Each splashes on my lips, windows closed but still an open door..
Flying through seasons and days like pages flipped in a book..
Each turned so quickly no chance to stop and look.
The heat on my face to the chill on my hands, drenched in sunshine
over a snow capped land..
The brightness peeks through the shade as morning makes
the evening fade..
What you dream is lived out over a continuous play..
Time to rise and follow your dream of today...

Your glorious emerald eyes
Glisten in the moonlight
Glisten in the moonlight
Delight dances in the water
I watch it joyfully
You are set free from the cage...
You're like a dove soaring in the sky
You are the rain...
drizzling down in ecstasy
A hint of ecstasy is shown in your reflection...
When you caress me... I'm relieved...
From the stress that forced me in chains
I knew we'd be on the brighter side of tomorrow
We're glistening in the moonlight
I knew we'd become candles in the heavens above us
We're glistening in the moonlight
For a moment, I felt your presence...your radiant with sympathy
I saw at first glance the dark side of you
Tonight, we'll be together and fly through the horizon
We'll watch the sunset say its last goodbye...
We'll wave a greeting at the moon!
We glisten in the moonlight...
What if I was as handsome as the lion...
Roaring with pride and pure courage
What if we were glistening in the moonlight?
Would it bring health to our bones tonight?
Would it make our heart rejoice and overflow with delight?
Would we be able to survive this horrifying plight?
Would we be shimmering like a candlelight?
We're glistening in the moonlight... (6)
Ohh...yeah...ooh yeah...ooh yeahh...
We reach to the stars and hope we can trace a shooting star
I feel the coolness run down my fingers...
We're glistening in the moonlight
You're the dandelions in the fields
You're the gorgeous view that I marvel at everyday
When you kiss me, I live my dreams
We glisten in the moonlight
In a quick moment, I sense a feeling of endless renewal
I roam inside of your illuminating maze
Glow on... sunshine...
Glow on...sunshine...
Glisten in the moonlight...
Listen to the truth and rub it in
You are ravishing like the sunset
But you're ascending while I'm descending
I feel extremely guilty
I wish I could glisten with you in the moonlight
You're glistening in the moonlight (6)
Ohhh yeahh... oohhh yeahh... ohh yeahh
You're glistening in the moonlight (4)
We go our own way
I wish we can glisten like the moon
Glisten like the sun
There's a dream concealed inside of me...
Reveal your light and pour it upon me
You glisten in the appealing moonlight
While I'm subsiding... you're fulfilling your dreams
Of gliding across the horizon
You're independence... keeps on scorching with satisfaction
While I'm below you...
Your emerald green eyes
Stared me down like a hawk...
Your emerald eyes
Gaze down at me genuinely...
I wish we could flee together in reality...
That could be a possibility
To glisten in the moonlight in glee
We were glistening in the moonlight (3)
But that was only a dream...
I'll pray that it turns into a reality
We were glistening in the moonlight
Now, I've misplaced my delight...
Will I ever experience such a brilliant night?

He is a sad man, badly flawed, but hardworking
He believes he is beyond reproach, just like many proud men do
That face does not crack a smile; a sign of 'weakness' it is to him
His poor children starve for the affection of a busy and distant Father
But by now, they've learned to keep warm hugs only for Mother
With the mindset that he was the spindle of his fine home and firm
Delegation of tasks came easy, and was delivered with shouts and expleties
Like a dark cloud he'd hover over his staff as they worked
And with no qualms, he'd claim credit for successes
And no one would stand up to him; no one ever dared
Most important in his life was work; he had no genuine friend
His warped mind assured him that no one was his equal in anyway
At home, he planned the weekly meals and dictated where they'd shop
And when a drink at dinner was accidentally spilled
Unforgiveness ruled the home for days
Toys seized as punishment were never to be seen again
Whether a favorite doll or game, it mattered not; sobs wouldn't break his heart
Clueless was he that in the hours he was away
His submissive family and servants come alive
And during times when he was at home, it had the feel of a tomb
One Friday night he delayed the staff by working extra late
Then when he called down for his car only to find the driver asleep
His rage overtook his senses and he threw the driver out!
In that instant he sat in the driver's seat hurling insults out loud
In blinding rain, and fuming with anger, he took the exit ramp at high speed
He never saw the old, blown-out tire coming at him just ahead
Fate that night made a devastating decision... it was taking back control
In his bedroom today, he lies motionles and sadly, visitors never sit for very long
Though unable to speak, he's gracious to see, the frolicking birds through his tears
At times he stares at the lonely hour glass upon the shelf below the window sill
~*~
2/20/13
For Jeremy's "Objectify Me Free Verse" Contest

I've dreamed an admirable dream,
To touch the monolith's of Stone Hedge,
And understand their meaning.
What a bounty of knowledge have these
Once cave dwelling people leave us
As their legacy.
A hovel's kindred, whom came from
The darkness within the earthen tomb,
To experience the sun light, at the day
Break of a new age dawning.
Not a transparent reality as now,
But an evergreen world, for them
To utilize.
An Eden to explore, a wild untamed
Wildernesses, calling to them come
See what I have to offer thee.
Oh what would I give to see this
Wondrous place, where wild life roamed free.
This is my dream,
What would I give, everything???
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
02-10-2014

We went together
To a place
Where roses never
Wither
A place where flower
Birds and nectar
Sucking bees
Sing a meliflious
Song of love
We sat there
Under cool shades
Of sinously
Swaying trees
We stayed so close
That we could
Feel the moving
Of each others lungs
And our hearts
Did beat to the same
Rhythm of love
But that
Was just a dream

I like sailing on the high seas over crystal blue waters
I like seeing the waves rising and feeling the splash
I like sights of jolly pirates swinging across the decks
I like sounds of parrots whispering beautiful words
I like scenic episodes that are challenging to the soul
I like seasonal ventures deep into the mystery of love
I like serious drama of swash buckling and bottled rum
I like shabby old treasure chests of gold and rubies
I like silence when the sea is calm and all is at rest
I like starting it again, splashing high sea adventures
I like sailing on the high seas over crystal blue waters!
Comments: Anaphora is the repetition of at the same word (or group of words)
at the beginning of successive phrases, clauses, sentences, or lines. This
anaphora poem is all about the pirates experiencing a high sea adventure.

Taking me down
To the fields of green
Along the brightest star
I've ever seen
Wait by the water
Till it hits the shore
To find an empty bottle
Nothing more
Name: Scarlett Sepulvado Anderson
Written: July 12, 2010
Contest: The Unwritten

A land of ice and snow, a picture perfect postcard,
It is here I walk alone, lost in thought, of glories utter
Amazement surrounding me.
Draped across the pine branches of evergreen, frozen white
Lace glistens, in the December sun.
Raw wilderness lain exposed, on a canvas of bare natural beauty.
Freedom's unexplored world, lies outstretched before me,
In this my wintery wonderland.
Crisp is the wind, blowing against my skin, it sends
An icy chill downwards, but I notice not.
I'm a dreamer set adrift, engulfed by a poets
Yearning, to put words of inspiration, onto an empty page.
Heavy steps, crunch the layers texture beneath, nay
I'll remain still, soaking in this forest portrait.
Before these eyes, I'm unable to grasp everything,
There is to be seen, but ti’s a spiritual moment,
Of reflection, in clarity's vision.
The mountains breath, is a thin chilling mist,
A fine thin halo, placed upon rocky peaks majesty, by the
God's themselves, a majestic crowning of divine design.
Covenanting these exteriors hardened edge,
It gives a taste of harsh flavor, to this natural
Paradise left undiscovered.
The blue hews of the sky, are Chris-crossed by
The northern lights, aurora’s multicolored rainbows,
Dancing in the Alaskan horizon.
An echoing peace lives here, a quite tranquility,
Humanity has forgotten for progress.
It is a magical essence of solitude, that
Speaks to ones inner being, a purity in the
Meaning of existence.
Within my little cabin, I'll rest, beside the fire side,
Warming these aching bones.
But the mind remains alive and alert, sparked by
A higher powers kindling, a flame, ignited with imagination,
In this my wintery wonderland.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

THE LUNAR GODDESS
In the darkness of the lunar eclipse, a figure shimmers in brilliance,
The moon gypsy sparkles to the shinning on high, dancing in rhythm with
Motions moonbeams, that flicker in the elegance on the waters surface.
Illusion ethereal goddess of mist and vapors, gliding through reflections
Mirrors of smoke and air.
Clicking bangles of seductions desires, as the tambourine bounces against
Her hips to the beat of the night's melodic melodies tempting the innocent.
Raven ringlets curls fall from the dark mistress. of passion's erotica,
As the slender figure enticing humanity to leave behind their world of reality.
This sirens sweet song, whispers on the wind, come along and join me,
In the mystic enchantment realm of dreams.
But the faithful heart hears not her words, nor sees but the moon above
In the lunar orbits transition, for he knows the truth of the heart, and she
His beloved lies next to him always.
Displeased by his rejection, the temptress speeds up her pace, but nay
He responses by tenderly kissing the maiden laying next to him instead.
For loves true beauty shines with the vows unspoken promise, to love
Only she whom stands next to him, his life mate eternal.
Wrapped in the blanket of warmth two share devotions everlasting light,
And it burns stronger than any flame burning within the heaven vast divide
above.
No temporary illusion can quench the kindled spark that these two beings
Share between one another.
She tosses her bangles down unto them, crying in sorrows regrets, never
To have known such wonderment as these two mortal spirits share, for
She is the lunar Goddess, and is made of nothing more than mist and vapors.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

It's gonna be a simple southern Christmas here.
All I want from Santa is some egg nog, bourbon and beer.
I'm gonna wait on Santa Christmas Eve night,
and when he's not lookin' I just might,
steal his reindeer.
It's gonna be a simple southern Christmas here.
I'm sending out my Christmas cheer.
I'm gonna sit on my front porch swing and sing.
It will be a good thing to hear those jingle bells ring.
I thought I seen Santa on the backwoods bayou road,
but instead it was a big fat toad.
It'a a wonderful simple southern Christmas here.
Santa just brought me some egg nog, bourbon, and beer.
When he wasn't lookin' I stole his reindeer.
So now I can deliver my Christmas cheer.
But hurry, hurry, I'm in a rush,
got to give that reindeer a little push.
Got to go, got to go,
got to get home to fix my gumbo.
It is Christmas day,
and I'm in a rush I must say.
It's gonna be a simple southern Christmas here.
Just add egg nog, bourbon and beer.
Mix it up with some Christmas cheer.
I'm ready for Christmas every year.

C'est aussi simple qu'une phrase musicale.
He is driven by the music in his mind.
Images swirl and almost coalesce...
toujours guide par le son
insaisisable de cette musique...
I merely listen and record.
What makes the music in his head?
It leads, he follows.
I say...vous pouvez compter sur moi...
et qu'est-ce que tu faites des interets?
He smiles but only sometimes
speaks aloud to clear the air.
Le son de sa propre voix le rassurait....
mais, que se passait-il?
He almost never knows where he might be,
but almost always finds his way.....
where the music sounds the strongest.
Les enfants suivirent doucement le maitre.....
He nods again...C'est bien fait.....
alors, je vous dire au revoir....
I chance one final query....
Quand tu reviendras?
He only says.....jamais.....

Allow myself to drift into my mind`s eye
Where dreams come and go every now and then
If all my dreams came true..what a dreadful thought
I would have everything I ever wanted
..and every horrifying nightmare would be for real!
All ambitions would be dead and gone
In my dreams I have it all
I`m doing so much better with the bait ahead of me
Still running to catch it..
...and every bloody nightmare is still under control
A.Ertsland
November 25th 2012

You never grasp the crux of me
labeling something this when it was actually that
in between it all, the depth of it got lost
instead of floating
I was free falling
unsure if you would be there to catch me
the best part is I felt relieved
even though I had no idea
where I would end up
I just knew sometimes
not knowing maybe exactly what I needed
because with that comes
anxiety,
in that anxiety
my sleeping spirit awakens
there is something new on the horizon
something without control
free falling
just another way to reach my destiny
without a map, in the end I will know
this is home,
exactly where I need to be

It is cold among the shadows, where heavy tears belong
Behind the gates, and iron locks, where sinking headstones dwell
Where names that time erases, are deeply etched with tales
One walks here in the dim, gray light, where the ravens weave their spell
There are legends, told in secret.. from deep below the earth...
In whispered tongues, they wonder,...does the raven wait for death?
Black ebony has circled. Is a feather just a quill?
Or...do the stories hold some merit...are they illusions of the chill?
A moss covered headstone crumbles, and tumbles with a touch
A raven's gaze seems evil, has he brushed the devil's wrath?
A voice of anguish rises, with an echo from the mist
And the silence comes, and all is still,.....or are legends simply myths?
Black heart, no shame.... a moth to flame
A caw cries out, , ..."how great the cost!"
They perch and watch and find a nest, among the webbed design
The lilies and the laurel...a tangled garden climbs
entwining over markers...that only wither on the vine
A raven waits, as nightfall comes, as fog and returns again
Another night, another life, will end again on time
______________________________
Inspired By Kelly's Contest: The Raven (Poe)
10/4/14

Everyone should have a secret place
where everything is so beautiful, you just belong
as peaceful as a day is long, an out of your usual pace,
sounds of nature all about, where birds sing there song,
Meditation replaces frustration, along your happy trail
moving about streams, pine trees as tall as a waterfall
where pine cones grace a foliage landscape so surreal,
woes are meaningless about green grass, lollypop bushes
A cool spring where skinny dipping hasn’t a sign to obey
trails going every which way, too choose, you can’t lose…
your way, this sunny day, misty spray, a couple out to play,
no weight to bare, deadlines to meet, nor fail too win
time only absent from laughter heard as children frolic there...
in a caressing manner, with her long hair draped about your face,
sounds echo off boulders where water flows by gallons everywhere
yes - your secret place, where good time memories are your true nature

The rains had stopped.
The waterfall was flowing.
So I took a walk across the pond.
I did not use my feet, oh no ;
for I had none.
It was upon a lily-pad that I did ride.
And quite swift I might add.
For the water was fast at high tide.
I looked up as the sun was in my eyes.
Though I'm sure I saw a dragonfly go by.
As a shadow came down over me,
And something landed on my back,
Though I could not see who it was.
She introduced herself as Miss Ladybug.
Said she was from the other side of the pond.
And she was on her daily fly about.
We became fast friends from that day on.
And that my friends, was my trip across the pond.
11am Sat. 6 / 8 / 2013
I met a slug who told me this story, I thought it was so fascinating. I had to write it down .

The lush of the land lies as velvet moss green carpet
The river rushing its morning wash
rumbling as it spins twisting and turning its tidal path
over the chance carried stones to the seas
Where the coastal sands of time are met
Meeting waves pulled by undercurrents
Finding rocks, kale, seaweed and moss covered
Just as the hair of cherubs faces foamed
Then gently adorned with shell and mollusk jewels
and salty sea air crusts crystal formations alongside
In come the tides bringing with them oceanic treasures
Driftwoods, wreckage, salvage,
that have crashed and bashed the cliffs along the way
To finally rest ashore and be renewed
To become beach combers delights
Trinkets gifts or items for the home

What I wouldn’t give to feel free...
Gliding along with the ocean breeze
...God how great would that’d be...
Away from the heavens...
Away from hell...
Why can’t it just be...
Alone with the wind
and without any thoughts...
where is this freedom I seek?
If only my wings would let me fly free
I would finally be able to breath
With the gusts of the wind and the sounds of the sea...
God what a great feeling that would be...
Just with that one moment above the sea...
I could come alive again...perhaps even breathe...
If only my wings would break free
From the stress of living a life away from the sea
...what a life that would be...

People tell me that Prancercise
is the latest craze to go viral
here in the U.S.A. Jeez Louise!
Are you frigging kidding me?
Prancercise is Geekercise!
No wonder the godless heathen
Russians think they can take us.
I guess the next thing you
are going to tell me is that
Barack Insane Hussein Obama
is the President and
Crazy Uncle Joe Biden
is the Vice President.
They are? Loopy Snoopy!
No wonder the godless heathen
Chinese think they can take us.

Rushing down the mountains
It jumps with glee
Can’t wait to meet the sea
Winds through the mountains
Forests, valleys and greens
Fishes and insects sail along
Feeds Animals and Birds with joy
Its color matches the sky
Pure and virgin
Rushes through the land of man
Can’t wait to meet the sea
Man calls it river
Makes it flow like gutter
The sky is polluted
The river matches the sky
Slows down the river
Misused and abused
Where is the sea?
It hits upon a wall
It leaps upon and peeps
The other side, dry and barren
Far away rests the sea
Waits for the walls to open
Feeds the parched lands with bliss
Winds down the offered path
Can it meet the sea?

The dream weaver of passion’s illusions paints magical visions
Within the soul of desires lost, the token King shifts wildly upon
The chess board of life, until he captures the Queen of hearts,
Melting her beneath his words of enchanting poetic charms.
But the black knight yields not the field of battle, for the flash
And glamor of a delusionary joust, can never win this maiden’s
Devotion, for her inner shield bars the mark of vows promised.
Oh in the bard’s eloquent lyrical tones, his sacred words sing
As sweetly as the nightingales soft lullaby, sweeping the dreaming
Damsel off her feet into passions imaginations world of pleasures
Fantasies, but a darker flame flickers in the night, guiding, calling
This wayward mistress homeward, for she belongs to the black
Knight heart and soul.
Bold is the white knight of clarity, trying to vanquish the
Dark arts beguiling spell, but no demons nor God, can part
These atomoshereic creatures drawn together by forces elemental,
For she is the light that balances his darkness,
And their binding love begets the balance of each other’s
Universe.
Welding his golden wand, the dream weaver builds
Crystal castles in the air, shinning illusions of Camelot,
Tripping the light rays of magic, tossing diamonds as
Confetti shards that sparkle beneath the moons elliptical
Brilliance, yet the queen’s devotion does not waver,
For she loves another, with the whole heart of salvation
Everlasting faith.
In the cold chill of the night, the Queen of hearts
Awakens, stepping lightly as If made of air itself
She steps behind the dark battle horse of fate,
Then placing her fragile hands made of porcine glass,
Into her mighty lord grasp, she mounts behind
The King of black, riding into the distant horizon
Abyss of darkness.
Screaming in protest the wizard of illusion falls
Into madness’s sorrow, for his lost love betrayal,
But she smiles in the night, embracing this
Lord of passions flame.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

He heard the crows,
morning-cawing-crows,
morning-language-cawing-crows.
There was for him,
always, uncertainty in the cawing,
an uncertainty he couldn’t hear,
though he tried for most of his life.
There was brotherhood, yes, brotherhood—
an association-brotherhood, a knowing, an approval,
with only one man to answer—himself.
If he could be the man with the answer,
he would really know the crow-uncertainty-language,
then his own, yet unknown need for approval would be released.
He thought, Oh, to be in the crow’s nest at feeding time.
Magnanimous tutors all, crows, Kafka-ing their way through life,
with K their jackdaw father— great approval there.
He thought, Don’t wait for that one.
He wondered if he’d been under a spell,
the crow-uncertainty-language-spell
of Beckleigh, beeches, bluegills,
shrubs and lightning bugs that sang their own cawing-choruses
in waxed paper covered mayonnaise jars.
Beckleigh, where he and neighbor children
called out from tree-castles,
from every named and friendly bush,
and in mimetic blessedness
that flowed from every child’s heart,
cast their primal caw, caw, caw in tones that pleased the earth itself.
Each step they made, each caw that came
pledged allegiance to some truth,
with approval from below shooting up their legs,
and wind and sun sweeping it into their nostrils.
Dedication and commitment never fell out of season.
One day after years took hold of
Beckleigh, beeches, crows and caws
he heard the distant cry of uncertainty,
like Echo, throwing her voice across the chambers of his heart.
He sensed an essence, perhaps love itself—he paused;
morning-cawing-crows,
morning-language-cawing-crows,
caw, caw, caw.
Oh, to be in the crow’s nest at feeding time.

It’s another day, yes, another day
Another day to watch my cronies wandering around
meandering around aimlessly, flippantly like
they have no care…no care in the world
and just like that…bludgeoned by a badly worn cowboy boot!
Guts all over!
One time I dated one of those giddy ones
and I tried to warn her!
She thought she was too cute to be bludgeoned
Too cute…can you believe that?
After about 28 minutes of blissful dating
I left her alone for just a second
and just like that…clobbered by a red stiletto!
Guts all over!
I guess to say it tactfully...
Most of them fall short on the intelligence end of things
They tell me I’m lucky to have lived this long
They all bow to me
I am one of the lucky ones
I am far more clever than most of them
I stay out of sight during the day
and just watch all of the guts
Don’t get me wrong I try to warn them
but they just don’t listen!
They love to go out in the daylight and
scurry around…scurry around the first floor
over the Persian rugs…across the tile foyer
Right in the daylight, can you believe it?
It’s almost like they are asking to be stomped
Stomped just like that by a Skechers Shape-up
Guts all over!
The darkness has settled in now
and alas, it’s now my time to play
I engage in my recreation at night
At nighttime I can crawl through
his jungles of chest hair and mangy mustache
and in and out of her furrows and crow’s feet
I only come out to frolic and meander
when all the badly worn cowboy boots, red stilettos and ugly Shapeups
are safely tucked away in the closet
I swing on the curtain tiebacks like Tarzan
I skate circles over the newly polished hardwood
I dance an impressive Irish jig atop the granite
I merrily skip atop of the flat screen tv
and nestle into the VHS tape opening
I’m so glad they have a VCR
‘Cuz those slots on the DVD players
are tough to get through
I am all alone but it so much fun to play
I bathe in a refreshing pool of milk
left in a tall tumbler in the sink
It’s good for the skin they say
I feast on tasty crumbs in the bottom of the toaster
I’m so glad they don’t ever check there
I’m having such a blissful time
If only my pals would listen to me
and come out and play only at night
when it’s safe
Ohhh noooo!!!
Devastated, I eye the newest addition to the family
I notice his long whiskers from a distance
As he stalks me with malicious delight
I run as fast as I can but ultimately...
It's my guts all over!

I have carried my imagination, since the day I was born
In a cup in the cabinet, filled with all of my dreams
Battered, and chipped, and dusty with childhood
Filled to the brim with castles and nursery rhymes
Cowboys and Indians, horses and unicorns
It was dipped in the sand to put out a fire
It was filled with white veils, and dresses of satin
It cradled the babies I longed for in springtime
It glows with a candle, that lights up a window
A light that is soft as freshly washed hair
It is fragile and slippery as a wet bar of soap
Filled with worry, and boogey men, dreaded disease
There are angels, and demons, and whatever I please
It remembers the sun, on a cold winter’s night
And takes me to places, with a message inside
A trip to the stars, on a hot afternoon
My cup can be filled with a thousand pink blooms
It holds paintings of roses, that grow in the sunshine
And a carrot, turned pencil…and seeds to be heard
I carry it with me, where my poems grow green words
I have carried my imagination, it has helped me to learn
In a cup in the cabinet….and though it is worn…
I have carried it with me since the day I was born…
____________________________________________________________

From bebop, swing to hip-hops thing
True poets had it best
For there is a rhythm in the soul,
Which they all just had to express
Some could not control
This powerful thing
Was so often put to the test
It began to dawn coming on strong
Within the birth of a thing
Called the Harlem Renaissance
That jazz, that poetic-jazz, of intense birth
Possessing syncopated rhythms
And chronic expression of surreal tunes
That perfected blend of jazz-poetry
Developed into what it is today.
Thanks to poets like Carl Dunbar and Langston Hughes
That jazz, that jazz, that wonderful poetic-jazz
Being bred of pride, lyrical form and grace
Transcended cultural barriers
Readily accepted in the 1950’s by the humane race
Therefore, the mantra had begun to be
So freely expressed within poetic lyrics
To syncopated beats moving on through the 60’s and 70’s
By way of beat poets like Amiri Baraka
Returning strong throughout the 70’s and 80’s
Thanks to artist like Gil Scott-Heron
Oh, snap he was one of the founding fathers
Of spoken word poetry known to youngsters
Borne to free-styling or hitting the beats
On stage or in the streets
Yes, you’ve guessed it, most def its rap
Re-educating the poet in me, thanks to that thing
In which made many a heart sing
As these icons did their thing
Starting with something called modern day jazz-poetry…
Born during the Harlem renaissance and still going strong
Comments: I hope that you have enjoyed this free verse
tribute to some of the greatest modern day
founders of what is known as Jazz-Poetry.

Upon his grandfather's rocking chair
on the porch in the cool crisp air
sits a man with a special gift.
For he can see the soul of a tree
within a piece of wood upon his knee.
His pile of cedar gives off a sweet smell.
He picks through the pieces, eyes closed,
his touch feels what is enclosed.
As if he were to reach within the wood
by pulling it apart from its protective bark
and removing what’s inside from the dark.
The Whittler will release this soul from its cage!
Each meticulous movement of the knife in hand
is meant to bring out something so grand.
After hours of work, fingers cramping into knots
the soul held within in this piece arose
to be a magnificent fully blossomed rose.
Beautiful just like the ones his gram
planted beneath her father's old cedar tree, by hand.
Adam Hapworth, With These Hands, 12/13/2013, Image #3

Wait ! the troll said.....
As he jumped in front of him.
You have the smell of human on you.
Therefore, I can not let you pass thru.
The mouse said, but I have just what you need.
The troll looked him up and down, and ask.
Now just what would that be ?
What is it that you think you have ?
" That I want", ask the troll.
The mouse always heard that trolls were
really very stupid.
The mouse replied......
But you let the others pass.
I know this because I seen it.
Troll answered, yes, but, that has nothing to do with you.
And if you displease me, I will eat you on this day.
The mouse thought to himself.......
Magic always works, but, only when you think you haven't
been tricked.
Troll replied , well I'm waiting, to cook you in my dinner pot.
Within my cave of cold gray stone as I chew on your bones.
Though I do prefer the taste of human little girls, and boys.
The mouse got that gleam in his eye, "as he replied".
When I was out and about this very morning I seen the valley.
Where all the human girls and boys come out to play.
There's even some that hang out in a basket all day.
The trolls eyes got very big, as he ask", where is this valley?
The mouse said, with a big grin, why", it's just back over that hill.
The troll said, if you are lying to me, I will eat you when I get back.
And he walked off over that hill, as he said, wait for me here.
The mouse waited till the troll was far enough away.
So he could be on his way, the mouse thought to himself.
There really may be a valley where the human children play.
But not over that hill, maybe over another hill, but not there.
At least ways not anywhere near that hungry old troll.
As the mouse went on his way, he thought......
The trouble with trolls is, " they're really very stupid".
4/ 27/ 2012 pm

Oh where does the dragonfly go, between the reeds,
And murky shore.
Gently dipping his wings edges, in the waters cooling
Ripples, dancing across the tingling ponds waves,
To moisten it's beautiful translucent appendages,
So sheer and delicate of design.
Danger's bullfrog, on the Lilly pads so sits still,
Waiting ever so patiently, for the dragonfly to slip.
Yet awareness’s great aerial acrobat, knows better
Not to mess around with this amphibian's slick
Devilish tongue.
So flights fancy leads him beyond, the flabby
Froggies reach.
Testing limitations boundaries, this lighter
Than air insect, soars at mercy's whim,
Gliding the currents wind, and tasting freedom's
Glory of wonderment.
Inspiration's tiniest of miracles, melts the poetic
Heart within, humbling one to pause, at nature's
Beauty beyond words expression.
Gleaming beneath the summers sun, the light
Shines and shimmers, as if made of glass,
A reflective surface of diamonds, cast asunder
With hews deepest blues, as it's aquatic canvas
Background below.
In this spiritual garden of the wetlands, cannot
Thee taste the essence of true purity, amongst
Clarity’s crystal clear air.
Oh do I not envy such a creature, as this the
Dragonfly, to drift a aloft from reed, to the
Abandoned Lillie pad, and see such magnificent
Natural beauty within nature itself.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Invisible figures moving in the mists of time,
Hidden female phantoms, masters of the wilderness
Wild, blending in as chameleons, they are the unseen.
Legend's cryptic tribe.
Maidens veiled beneath mysteries coverlet’s of beauty,
Vanishing, as if a vapors mystic dream, created by ancient
Historic mythology.
But nay the Amazons, were fierce fighting warriors,
Battle hardened women, whom lived by the basic instincts.
Of survival and honor.
Unbridled by the whims of society, no chains bondage,
Could restrain their desire to be free from mans law.
Liberation's winds moistened their lips, and inflated
The lungs of these warrior women.
Nomads raised on the theology, that man are inferior creatures,
To be used as beasts of burden, or at leisure’s pleasure,
Nothing more.
Skilled in the art of war, renowned for courage’s
Unyielding voracity, armored maidens of legend,
And for raw endurance’s strength of will.
Blow the golden horn of victory's challenge,
As the ancient archer thus thread's her bow,
In anticipation of the battle to begin.
Drawn swords at the ready, do you not
Hear their ancestral cry to arms, take
No prisoners alive.
Shield maidens whom answer to know man,
But only the Gods themselves,
Behold they are the Amazons.
Shoulder to shoulder, and back to back,
Shields raised glistening in the sun.
The battle lines are drawn in history,
A fierce fighting force by all accounts
Renowned, to legacy's ancient passage,
For all women to be proud of generations
Forward to come, remember their battle hymn.
Freedom sisters, can you not taste it's
Flavor of liberation, carried on destiny's
Four winds, I'll raise my cup in tributes
Honor unto them, known as the Amazons.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Crumbling bricks
Peeling paint
Faded gilded ceilings
Wainscoting worn down
by the sands of time
Smoke and grime layered
on leaded panes of glass
bearing the words Edmund’s Pub
And we wonder who Edmund was
An air of decayed decadence
from an era past
Tongue and groove oak floors
warped from the pounding of feet
moving to the beat of the Charleston
Spirits auras
sensed rather than seen
A feather light touch
A subtle change in the density of the air
as imagined dancers brush past a turned shoulder
Echoes of long ago voices
emanating from cracks in the walls
Whispers of lovers
hiding in curtained alcoves
A faint ping of cut crystal goblets
filled with forbidden amber liquor
meeting in a toast to
Hot Springs in its heyday
Downtown Top of the stairs
Where you can still hear
the rustle of fringe and lace on satin
The tinkling of multi-colored strands of beads
swinging from long necks
beneath bobbed hair rosebud lips
and rouged cheeks
Patched bricks
Freshly painted walls
Ceilings gilded a warm golden
Fluorescent lights spilling onto
leaded panes of glass
bearing the words Edmund’s pub
And we still wonder who Edmund was
I could swear I see Al Capone
sitting on the cozy cream sofa
in the cigar lounge
And is the bartender really wearing
a button-down white shirt
with a bow tie and a garter on his sleeve
In the blink of an eye
Flip flops become spats
Baseball caps become fedora hats
And the house band is playing
We’re An American Band
Is playing Alexander’s Ragtime Band
Is playing One Man Band
You can hear the clink of glasses
filled with amber liquor
meeting in a toast to
Hot Springs in its heyday
Downtown Top of the stairs
(*See About the poem for its history *)

He was a smart ass young whippersnapper
when he was a child and he became a
professional politician once he grew up.
Thankfully he died while he was relatively young.
For him personally Karma may have been a conniving bitch
but for the remainder of suffering humanity Karma was a very kind lady.

Run, jump and frolic with childhood abandonment,
Grab down, that dusty old mason jar, recapture
The lightening in the bottle, of yesteryear’s remembrance.
Refresh one's youthful heart, in the memories evergreen
Pastures called imagination.
In the meadows of human thought, all remain young,
Release thy inner spiritual being, race the wind,
Feel it's liberation, brushing against your face once more.
Time stands still here, within this field of dreams,
The eye of the hurricane is set aside,
Within this lulling of the life's stormy seas,
Reality ceases to exist, in this fairytale never land.
Shed every layers aged texture, be as one reborn,
A kindred reflection of the child of innocence, lying
Within thy inner self.
Relive pleasure's laughter from long ago, when troubles
Were unknown, only glee and happiness lived in our
Realm of true joy.
Let the pain of heartache float away, as bubbles drifting
From the palm of your hands, than popping
Unto air's nothingness.
Come recapture the lightening within the bottle,
Chasing those glowing ageless memories, and relive
A lighter time in your life, infuse one's youth again,
Entrap that fragile spark, in a glass mason jar,
A delicate tinder box, flickering within all of us,
Whom wish to stay forever young.
Shatter that thin pain between these worlds,
Keep the youthful fire burning, let it shine through,
In all it's brilliance to touch all those surrounding thee,
Enlightening every heart around you, embracing them
And enriching their lives.
Oh what harmonious music lies in a child's laughter,
So free, so liberated, without cares restrictions,
Look into the beautiful eyes of the kindred, and remember.
A time when one chased the fireflies, in a timeless meadow
Of thought, run, jump and frolic with childhood abandonment,
Once more, and feel alive reborn.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Far beneath fathom's kept, where the dead men,
Dare not speak of forgotten kingdom's hidden deep,
Under waves chilling currents, in the aquatic blues,
Burial zone.
Behind seaweeds thickened greenery, and corals
Reefs decorative stealth.
An ancient mystery's truth lies undiscovered,
Pull back times curtain reveal a world turned up,
Side down.
Once a utopian society lived, bathed in the
Warmth of the sun.
Shinning by brilliance light aglow in
Architectural marvel.
Civilization’s corner stone, etched with
Diversity's trade mark.
Idealism in perfection orderly form,
Pictured framed amongst ,
Legend's greatest mysteries left unsolved,
Yet it intrigues us.
A vast landscape spanning the horizon,
Wealth's golden city.
Built brick by brick on sheer strength,
Of will power and intelligence intellect.
A crown jewel of the ancient world but,
It's existence has tarnished with age,
Entering the realm of long ago,
Mythological legendary myth.
But fortune's favor draws fates attention,
Leaving unto follies end result greed's lust,
Deception’s cruelty, and slavery’s injustice.
The god's have little mercy for humanity’s,
Sinister darker side,
And cast a titan's krackan to sly the
Wickedness there in.
Destruction landfall hit Atlantis head on,
An eerie twilight’s hour destiny’s four winds,
Did scream why have you forsaken,
Your children thus so.
No wraith's compassion could eliminate,
Sorrows heavy burden to bare.
A nation, a continent wiped from the face
Of the earth, without leaving a trace vaporized,
In a instant.
Storytellers epically write words, telling of
Legacy's lost paradise.
It's valuable theology speaks volumes knowledge,
Of lessons to be learned so not as to,
Be repeated again.
In the devil triangle may it rest in peaceful slumbers,
Dreaming state.
Until history's reawakening calls it name once more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Oh, in inspirations winter dreaming, I’ve dream't
Of a mystic valley of the Aurora Borealis,
A chambered realm of frozen colors,
Exploding within reflected light aglow,
In the hushed silence of ice and snow.
Here the pondering thoughts are set from beyond
Limitations of realities boundaries.
I'm a poet on a free fall dive, into the human imagination,
Behold my polarized world of enchantment.
Tender are the delicate wildflower petals,
Gleaming beneath the frozen sun, ice blossoms adornments,
Brilliantly shining in the fields of glitter, amongst
The snow dust's razzle-dazzle, beguiling the eyes of this poetic
Heart.
A Floral tapestry of permafrost, drips with a frothy moisture
Mist of sleet, creating a dappling effect upon the white
Dandelions and ivory daisies.
Taste the frozen honeysuckle upon your lips of warmth,
As the swarming frost bees pollinate this arctic garden,
Stinging with their chilling venom of flash freezing.
Palest crystallized roses, with thorny prongs sharpened edges,
Embraces the colds icy light, but reject the soft touch of
The mortal hands of loves devotion.
The haunting sounds of the Arctic owl echoes, against the
Walls of these alpine fiord's, as waterfalls of avalanches,
Crashes downwards, cascading into the deep valley basin below.
Swirling arctic foam blasts across this translucent terrain,
Shattering the magical splendor of stillness,
And splintering the tender reed unto nothingness,
Except for the spreading of germination's life giving
Seeds of renewal.
Yet it leaves refineries thin fluffy powder, scattered for
The crystal humming birds, it is their sweet nectar’s
Refreshment to feast upon, as the swift wings sparkle,
In the dusk's afternoons setting sun last rays.
Welcome to my symphony of Tiffany, gems stones sacred
Meadow of frozen jewels, radiating luster's regalia
Of glitz and glamour, leaving behind a twinkling celestial display,
That comes from a rich imagination of a poetic heart.

Sometimes imagination is my only friend
Mind over matter, there’s no strings
With a leap of faith, interpretation speaks quietly
Without an audience, reality is but an illusion
Waiting for answers, charging forward
Faith carries its own club, weighted down
Gently it reaches, precisely engineered
Generations wait with flawed anticipation
Giving solace to the masses, ignoring the obvious
Without pretense, conclusions are discarded
Abandoned with care, loneliness gives way to hope
Respectfully declined, lost in vengeful victory
Where love triumphs and hope is a futile answer
Where feelings, dreams and destiny have been stolen
Given freely, tempted by life, we control fate
If you’re in the game, you’ve already won
~Rick Berry

Viewed from outside, the forest appears to have been gobbled up,
erased by a gigantic sponge of mist.
Only the tips of a few cedars pierce through the miasma.
No, they aren't piercing through the veil; more so, they are disconnected
from the rest of their towering bodies -
green, sharp cones floating above the lumbering, pulsating cloud.
But once within the forest, having stepped through the perimeter of trees,
visibility opens up a little, as wispy tentacles retract into the canopy above,
as if in retreat from an approaching intruder.
I do not know precisely what I am looking for,
simply following a strong instinct
as to the whereabouts of what I desire to find.
How is it possible to desire something I do not know?
Oh, but how I so desire to find it....
Fiddleheads uncurl, silent players in an orchestra,
giving a visual impression of the sounds vibrating
beneath their spiralled stalks.
A strange hour for crickets to be tuning their Viennese strings.
Over to my left, sits Voltaire with a crooked grin.
But upon closer inspection, it is only a rotting stump.
Voltaire, you sly, sly genius. Always so sharp and forthright.
How you must have wormed your way into Luther's head,
as the two of you hid in Frederick's fortress castle.
Yes, you were always so keen and brilliant,
but disconnected from your heart. Were you not?
I push deeper into the forest, scaring off a mole
who had a momentary lapse of courage within the mist.
The curdling vapours recede even more,
clearing up my lines of sight.
There! Is that what I am searching for!?
Naye, it is but a smooth, polished stone set amongst a crowd
of dangerous looking rocks, poking out of thick, wet moss -
dangerous rocks with slippery, jagged edges,
resembling the dagger of Brutus.
23 stabs in Caesar's back, on that cruel midnight hour.
23 chromosomes added from each half,
giving birth to a story of deception and betrayal.
And of a captain going down with his sinking ship.
Pondering over these spectres, suddenly jogs my thoughts -
thoughts no longer connected to a physical body.
My hands resemble the fog--thick as illusions,
but also transparent, depending on the vantage point.
I have found what I came looking for,
confirmed my own mortal death,
as I now appear to be existing within the memories of the living.
I did not find the forest after all,
instead, Death found me.
The true reason for having arrived here,
is to earn a degree in phantasmology.
February 16th, 2012

Sunny, hot, humid, summer morning,
Taking my first train ride, I’m so excited and it’s thrilling
Can’t wait to go north where it’s cool to stay with my grandpa and grandma
Ma and pa say I’m old enough to go by myself, I’m in awe
Dressed in my Sunday outfit, crinoline,
And my fine
Bonnet decorated with ribbon and blooms I watch with my pack
Passenger’s restlessly anxious waiting with me at the depot for the train to come up the track
Buck boards and horses with their riders running by
Dust clouds form, covering everything with dust, I sigh
Making us use our handkerchiefs as we cough, and pace
Beads of perspiration causing tiny streams down my brow and face
Leaving thin streaks in the brown dust
A great swell of the blackest
Charcoal smoke billowing smokestack, whistle blowing
Steel wheels against the rail cause a braking, screeching, vibrating sound
Locomotive coming up the rails into view, like a charging black rhino
A massive moving machine, a fantastic sight to take in
To carry me off to places I have never been
Conductor howlers, “All aboard! “As we stand at the depot
I hurry to sit in the hard wooden seat by the window
The conductor in a black uniform and hat, usher
And walks up the aisle of seats to check everyone’s ticket to see if it’s in order
We finally start with a jerking move, whistle blows,
Smokestacks start billowing with the circling gray, black smoke
Staring out the window for hours at the scenery of the outside world as it passes by
Prairies, telegraph poles look like pick fence, buffalos grazing on the way
Smoke starts coming in through the windows, settling all over, and pollute
Getting my Sunday dress black with soot
Conductor routinely came around checking for sparks
That flew in among the passenger and started small fires
It’s an uncomfortable experience
Every bone in my body aches from the hard wooden seats,
Every bump and sway of the train
Beds are a little more accommodating
Wooden shelves stack one atop of another
The swaying of the train lulls me to sleep
Dreaming of the things I will see and do
Cannot wait for this journey to come to an end
So I can get off this miserable, filthy, harsh riding, train
To a warm bath, and grandma’s cooking, with a comfortable chair, and feather bed
By: Eve Roper
1/12/2015
Contest: Railway Journeys
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton

Ghostly images shimmering
in the fall moonlight
shudder at the sight
dry rustling leaves, eerie
in the windy, inky darkness
of the deserted field
icy shivers run down the spine
hairs standing on edge
the Sleepy Hollow Legend
fresh in over active imaginations
as the pale pumpkin seemingly levitates.
For Raul's contest

All about me the butterflies feed and soar,
my heart flutters, my mind takes flight.
Every second electrons escape bondage, shed light—
this is how I would paint the day, flapping in joy,
instant by instant changing images, changing tune,
beckoning me beyond my world, afar, off on a flight
out of this world where we feel gravity full upon us
weighted by the actual, wedded to the world
until we realize, we are the element called imagination.

I walked around for hours
hoping it was a dream
that my life will go back to normal
as soon as I open my eyes
I could feel them looking at me
with pity on their faces
damn don't they know I don't need it
it is just a dream
can't they see the smog?
Vision so hazy it can only be a dream
the maze just has no ending
I need to get away
away from all the shadows
away from yesterday
what is that thing about
if you wish hard enough
it will come true
I wonder if I wish to start things over
will she still be next to me?
I still see her face
all cut up
guess it's not a dream
I can see it all so clear
damn I wish I took her with the car
that day
instead of her going by train
please God, please
can we go back?
can we go back to yesterday?
When her laughter made me laugh
when her touch made me feel all warm inside
with just a simple touch I knew that I was home
damn I wish this was a dream
that she could walk through our front door..
Our house no longer a home
just an empty space
her footsteps has gone quiet
they say it will get easier
when, please tell me when?
this aching need to have her close by -
will be a distant dream
I’m tired,
so very tired
of putting up a brave face
when I know she's watching me
just crumbling away
damn I wish this was a dream
and she would wake me up
with the words -
"Honey,
I brought you, your morning cuppa"
280820110000
*I initially wrote this from a guy's
perspective for a contest which required
us to use a pseudonym :)*
Written by Wilma Neels

THE JOKER
Come at me Joker you will.
Got your eyes following me like steel.
A piece of me do you need.
Hell, take a limb off my tree.
Why did you leave that note on my wall?
Now I fear this echo-y call!
You left (ME) P.D. afraid of the dark.
"LOOK AT ME!"
I'm hiding under my covers, trembling at your weak bark.
I'm so scared I'm sleeping with one eye open~ and the lights on.
Sigh"
A break in the wind,
Did you follow me again?
I hear this tune playing in my head.
Laughing and Laughing!
I panic with so many tears to shed!
Like a little girl, my hair I twirl.
Why is it me you dread?
This tune is making me shiver and quiver like a kid.
Your watching me slither back into my bed.
This laughing!
This tune I fear!
My face is turning white like the dead.
I keep pressing my hands against my ears.
This tune starts to thicken the flow of my red.
"FINALLY!"
I get the nerve to look under my bed.
What the FUDGE, is this doing under my bed??
Is this a jack in the box??
Joker are you FREAKING with my head??
A joke a laugh this DESTROYER has lied.
You don't got what it takes to make me hide.
Your trap fell into the pit of my abyss.
I've been waiting for you behind close doors.
We both hide behind a mask.
Your head falls upon my checkered board floor.
I am still P.D., and your masquerade is over my friend.
I've come to destroy the joke you left on my end.
A trick--A riddle--A joke--A game--
Lets call it your death sentence.
I already singed my name.
The POET DESTROYER was here : )
And left her name on your headstone of shame.
from: the POET DESTROYER
to: the JOKER *from the pub*
I apologize the next time you see (**). in my poems, such as (SH**T),
Ha Ha that is (shoot) not what you think. ///THANK YOU/// Have a good day...
and enjoy the re-posted of my poem,..LOVE p.d.

Engraved in chromes steel, is benedictions creed
The road warrior's born to be free mentality,
A legacy's name embossed in history, behold
The American Harley Davidson Motorcycle.
Fires hell bound creation, blazing down the
Interstates two lane highway, feasting upon
The concrete and asphalt jungle, it lives to be driven,
And is driven to live.
Emerging from brimstone's smoke, and hails
Lightning flash, a two wheeled vehicle of deliverance,
Cuts the wild heart in half, releasing mankind's
Inner beast setting it free, unto the open roads
Badlands, of ultimate abandonment to freedom's row.
The rebel unforgiven,thus follows the lost by ways
Seeking liberation’s untamed spiritual knowledge.
Held firmly beneath the wings of the American eagle, and
Draped within the standard most sacred
Under the red, white, and blue flag, of the U.S.A.
A living entity, releasing society's inhibitions,
At the sound of it's mighty roar, a freed lone wolf,
Racing against the winds of the restless spirit.
The leather jacket's brotherhood, symbolizing
A grand belief in the declaration of independence,
That all men are created equal, and shall have the
God given right, to seek true freedom's liberty at will.
These are the modern cowboy desperado's,
Riding upon dual engines of power,
Time bandits whom trust in God and country alone.
A stampers anvil strikes in thunders rage,
Melting quick silver, speeds downwards
Into a symbolic mold, leaving behind tradition's
Birthmark, and the Harley Davidson symbol
Is born.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Cookies -
Why can’t I have the chocolate one
I want more
She took my cookie
Hers is bigger than mine
I want to trade
That’s not fair
Cookies +
Thank you for the cookie
I love you
Thanks for all you do for me
I am satisfied
This is good
I am loved
Written By Deborah Finneran :) 2013

What is Christmas about anyway?
What does it all mean this happy holiday?
Some guy up North is laughing at us,
Ho Ho Ho!
Oh by jingle, bring out old Chris Kringle,
To light up every lawn on the block.
Put aside those Christmas blues,
Instead lets decorate,
Keeping our spirits lite,
With decorations delights.
Don't you remember cold winter
Nights?
Hanging a hundred strains, of
Decorative multicolored lights.
After all your hard work,
One bulb, just flickers,
Then without warning,
It goes out completely.
Deck those halls, drag out the,
Holly, put up the mistletoe by golly.
Let us welcoming a new tradition,
Started by the baby boom generation.
Black Friday's shopping extravaganza,
Which begins at the crack of dawn.
Brave souls camping out, huddled together,
Just to save a dollar.
Frozen gnomes, with coffee cups held tightly,
Standing in a everlasting line,
Patiently, waiting for the doors to finally open.
After arriving home, grateful it's all over.
Then realizing it's time, to do all the
Joyous wrapping.
So open the eggnog, pour me a glass,
I'll drink it down in celebrations repast.
Bring on the turkey with sides galore,
Shall we not feast until theirs no room for more.
But really to me it's all about a time long ago,
In a manger far away, beneath a shinning star,
Here a tiny baby was born,
And he smiled at mankind's world.
Family, loved ones gathered near,
Hearts in hand.
Embracing each other with happiness,
Love and good cheer.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

If these eyes shall become blinded, and if this
hair shall come to be combed thinly and grey;
No, it would not be the end of the world.
I would still see beauty therein this world through
the songs of Crickets and Feathered Songsters.
The breeze would yet whisper and trees still dance.
I would yet smell the freshly bloom of Spring.
I'd still endure Summer's sweltering heat.
I'd yet feel Autumn's leaves crunch 'neath these toes.
I'd still long to be fireside with Winter.
Disabled or not, perhaps I'd yet walk
therein wonderful imagination.
How I'd be forever young at heart!
Then just as one journey came to an end,
I'd indeed greet another with a smile.

SEX ON A CLOUD
(HER STORY)
She grabbed his voice
Through conference din
Sought to win his gaze--
But crowds of gabbers tottered in...
He missed the sexy nod she sent his way--
Distracted by a phone call--
faded from his day.
But oh his face....
Would not be gone....
wild
bony visage--home
of passion's eyes--
Fate teased in him
her Paradise--
Upward Man
Brash Upward Plans--
Such a heart must be attached--
Her stubborn mind
holds fast to dreams,
bows to Fate--
but loathe to schemes....
She stalked his dreams
The night is theirs
Palm to Palm--
All answered Prayers.
Eyes exult
Besieged by bliss--
becalmed by thoughts
of moonlit kiss
she Owns his Face
sweet charmed caressing
that leaves no trace
but silent blessing
(HIS STORY)
Over a shoulder
behind a pole
he saw a face
that grabbed his soul
wild hair so red
his heart caught fire
hands of grace
could capture choirs
Laugh of bells
tolled 'cross the hall
he moved toward her,
then had a call--
stepped out in search of quiet space,
cut short his call--
yet lost her face.
She was gone...
Another man?
Abysmal sight....
a f_cking awful
maddening plight.
He's lost his chance,
in town
One Night.
Her essence brands,
Flays bare his heart--
But business tugs him
Worlds...
Seas apart--
Mellifluous--
tho hard to place--
She's the tune he can't erase.
a love so fierce
Each night they tryst,
shake clouds above
grant them every lover's wish
She nuzzles love
and slips o-er him--
encased and blessed
in Passion's Glove.
V. Anderson-Throop
Sept 2013

Grandma with the almond eyes
Needed a seat on the metro
On a warm Wednesday
Afternoon-
I stood up and guided
Her to mine
As she smiled at me
With whatever was left
Of her eighty-eight
Year old teeth
And although I am
Usually the last one in line
When it comes to
Doing what’s right-
I still felt like
I owed her a lot.
This grandma could be
The cute little
Baby girl whose
Two toothed smile
And big brown eyes
Caused my
Great grand parents to
Decide they wanted
To have a child.
She could be
The woman who
Made the vase
That was set on
A table in a cafe
And triggered a conversation
Between my parents
On their first
Date.
Or her husband could be
The man who left that
Banana peel on
The floor somewhere
In Rainy Beirut
During the 1970’s
Hence causing my
Dad to slip into
Mother’s arms.
She could be
The person who
Sold my father the
Rose he gave mother
On Valentine’s Day.
She could be
The uttermost reason
For my existence.
Or she could be some
Random old lady-
I still gave her my seat anyway.

(Another childhood poem.)
Filaments tightly woven,
a chrysalis cradles me,
deflects the dangers;
it is an armored womb,
bright and hard.
Loosely woven,
a web imprisons me;
struggles snare me firmly
in these threads.
What weaves this armor
and this trap?
It is I --
I am the spider,
and the potential
butterfly.

Who am I?
Time will not answer,
Nor, other.
Perhaps my existence,
Does not exist.
Who am I?
The reverse side of the world.
Manufacturing production of God
Or a cosmic joke?
What will become of me
When crossing the bridge?
Doubts are like wires,
That twist in the soul.
There is no end, no beginning.
Yes, there is a tangle,
Which we call life.

You look out the window and see a depressing landscape with short shrubs scattered across
a plain field of nothingness.
She looks out the same window and sees a vast space to run and play, with daring plants
that go where no plant has gone before.
You look at a busy sidewalk that is treacherous to even attempt to walk along.
She looks at the same busy sidewalk and sees an endeavor to do the near impossible but
enjoys every minute of it.
You look at a homework assignment and only think about the hours of research.
She looks at the same assignment and sees a new challenge to test her mind and she quickly
dives in.
You look at life and see a bleak mix of people coming and going, with nothing exciting but
the sleep you may get that night.
She looks at life and sees an adventure waiting for her everyday, with another chance to
bring color to people’s lives as well as her own.
She is where creativity blossoms.

computing darkness,authentic brain;
you are so experimental in sadness:
you find new ways to make yourself sad,
you lecture without notes.
we are creative students stranded
in a boring hall,boring teachers,
only the subject interests us
yet we end up learning only
through the way of misinterpreting
and coming to know from other arts
to combine what we have.
asylum of studies each human brain is,
the brain that is often worded as heart;
science is romantic,it has oxytocin-
science is futile,we outgrow it all the time.
science is dead. we bring it back to life
to serve our boredom,
to continue searching by never approving-
perhaps we should all be mid ages farmers,
sleeping at six after dinner;
the sun sets and we settle in bed,
we make children,
we make future,
we allow future to have a chance
at making children,
and children no future to make
future of their own.
we live in past when we say we are new-
we are old,always old,we change
but we are never new.
the new ones are the ones ready to break
and mature into old;
when will we learn that?
only one lamp burns of us
and only a pool of oil;
we work around it
and our fire dances
out of shape,
like fireflies
warming each night into sleep.

Upon a time, not so long ago
I saw these things, and locked them away
In the treasure room of my memory:
One sunset, Apocalyptic in its brilliance;
Clouds of opal shimmering,
Flying across a sapphire sea.
The white ruins of an ancient city.
Once home to a great and proud people,
Streets long settled into the silence
Of years marked off by dust,
My footprints in that dust.
And just beneath these things I felt another something
Immense, Unnamable
That lies far below our common perceptions
Like water flowing beneath thick ice.
The knowledge of its prescence,
Felt only in those fragile moments
When images too beautiful for the frailty of words
Burn their way into the depths of our souls,
Has given me that sound I hear now in silence
A clear bell that sounds a tone
Not made by any instrument of Man,
Which stills the frantic revolutions of my reasonings
And gives me back the pure sight I had long ago
Before my childhood disappeared.
In fleeting impressions
Falling through the tempest of experience
That carries us all through life,
I sense this other side of the world,
The calm, steady eye
That holds fast in the center of the cyclonic round
Of Creation and Destruction
That drives the Universe along:
The unmoving Hub
At the center of the infinite wheel.
Sometimes I feel this faraway place
Lying nearer than my latest breath,
Standing firm somewhere beyond all confusion,
And island of strength beyond all substance
Surrounded by the seas of our doubts.
I touch it with my mind, in flashing moments
And it is enough
To bring some peace to the wars of my emotions,
To steady my hands as I guide my life
Towards its unseeable end,
Uncertain and dim in the approaching distance.

On his shoulders
he carried
me,
when I tarried
when young.
He’d huddle me close,
and tell me the stories
Of how he grew up.
The things that he loved to do most.
Correct me when wrong.
And punish when bad he’d
Protect me from harm,
And when ill -
He’d wrap me in blankets,
And nurse by my side,
Till one day I grew up
And rebelled.
In your footsteps
You wanted
Me to have followed,
And done everything by your will.
But I’m my own person,
So listen to my side,
Are you in with me this time
Or still…?
Do you not answer?
Hear my pain call?
As I struggle to find my own way.
Is it time I departed?
Is it time that I learnt?
To have my own will
What d’you say?
Well I’m sorry
You’re silent.
You’re so disappointed.
But I know that you feel
I am wrong.
I can’t take this no longer
I’m so full of anger.
To my misery
Is there no end?
Well I’m out!...
Do you hear me?...
Dont misunderstand me.
I’m grateful for what you have done.
But for now
I don’t know me.
I don’t know the answers.
I’ll pack up my things and be gone!
But then
you say to me
Just listen – child listen,
One day
you will settle
You’ll see.
You’ll be married.
With children.
Putting food on the table -
Working hard to bring in the dough
Then you’ll think of these words
Just follow my footsteps
That way you will
Come to no harm.
And the voice in your head
Will silently say -
I told you,
Was right all along.
I’m your father
I taught you to follow
my footsteps;
To know what is right and
Whats wrong!

I am here at the library of hours
chunks of time are strewn ragged
shelf after shelf
here's an early birthday
wafting through this strange corridor wind
the one where I struggled to blow the flame out
of the last few candles
there along the staircase
tumbling down the rafters
is me about eight
tumbling down a steep hilly street
in effort to keep up with my older brother
riding on a skateboard
and up there
giving a creak to the chandelier
I asked the girl of my dreams out
at a junior high dance
she said she had a boyfriend
I remember thinking
but you're only thirteen
and you live in Rhode Island
even higher up
above the colored-glass
I am in Vegas
surrounded by television writers
and drinking too much
walking alone
down an empty strip
in broad daylight
while down here near my feet
the children with autism grow
like mushrooms around me
bobbing with mute pleading
then drawing away
then signing thank-you cards
in my departure
long story short
I can't keep this up
the library is closing
the self has splintered and scattered
and I am reeling from my own multitude
I walk towards the doors
and the librarian stops me saying
come back tomorrow
new moments are arriving
this circus of memory
will be your legacy
I don't trust his smile
legacy
I smirked at the word
as I sped my lightning beetle
onto the thoroughfare
the throttle humming
and my mind drifting
into the all-possible clouds above

A lone rider sits high in the saddle,
As the horizon's sunrise spreads across,
The open prairie.
Twin pearl handed pistols rest at his side,
As rusty spires clang against wooden planks,
At the deadwood saloon.
Legends cowboys whisper his name,
On the dry desert winds,
A giant of a man whom breathed
Life again into the legacy,
Of the old west.
His side swagger's walk trademark
On the larger than a life screen.
The duke truly represents the great
American hero on horse back.
Six shooters drawn at high noon's
Count down,
John Wayne's the trail dusts equalizer,
He always remained on the right side,
Of tin stars law.
The tumble weeds rolls along a dirt path,
As tall cactus stand on an arried canvas,
Life here is harsh and mean,
Where only the strong survive.
Bold individuals with the inner
Strength against god's forbidden land.
Harden men whom lived by one simple,
Rule I will do what ever it takes
To stay alive.
He'll join the ghost riders,
Forever driving the lords herds
Across the grand divides vast
Prairie sky’s as the sunsets
In the old west.
Alone figure rides high in saddle,
Set against a legends back drop,
Hell bound for glory,
In a cloud of gun smokes fog,
Behold the duke emerges,
With his hat on straight
And gun at the ready.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

SUMMER NIGHTS
Sheltered beneath the moon’s enchantment,
Are the careless castaways, of the lost summer
Nights of innocence.
Released from the binding tethers of society,
These youthful spirits of the wild heart soar,
Beyond flights passion into seductions
Nether realm of pleasures hidden within
The inner desires flame.
Gliding, melting asunder it is a spiritual
Union, seamlessly mixing completely absorbed
Within the embrace of one another.
In dawns purifying light, two souls join as
One, kissed by the first rays of sun, ever so
Tenderly, awakening from dreams enchantment.
Sing sweetly songbird, let your softest melody
Be their lullaby’s sounding, in harmony’s
Gentle whispering undertones, of hushed
Vows eternal.
Shimmering translucent rainbows, are set
Aglow, lofting in silences offerings of future
Promises exchanged between these earth
Angels unbound, lost within loves mystical
Embers of these summer nights.
Let the raging storms of life, strike with
The force of a hurricane blast, nay shall
This beautiful memory of youth last forever
In the deepest book of remembrance.
A tender render of days long since past,
Delicately preserved in the hearts of two
Spirits, whose wings brushed against each
Other along a distant shore, during a time
Of lost Innocence, on a warm summer’s
Nights dream.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Through the lonely woods, I may head,
Upon the autumn leaves, I may tread,
At the secluded horizon, I may stare,
And only you, I may see,
In those symphonies of silence,
In those melodies of calmness,
In those euphonies of quietness.
By the silent lake, I may lay,
Till the twilight fades, I may stay,
Then in reclusive silence, I may walk,
And only to you, I may talk,
Through those toungueless emotions,
Through those wordless attachments,
Through those voiceless sentiments.
In the lone meadow, I may wander,
Along the untrodden paths, I may waver,
In companionless seclusion, I may hide,
And only in you, I may find,
The depths of oneness,
The bonds of togetherness,
The cozy feel of coalescence.
In the wilderness of emotions, I may die,
At the merciless daggering, I may sigh,
Through a million wounds, I may bleed,
And only in you, I may seek,
The balm of love,
The warmth of affection,
The heal of inseparability.

I came across you
as I stumbled through
a darkened alley
shadows of the makeshift fire
shed light on your face
I wasn't sure if you were smiling or just
trying to unnerve me
after all it was late and I was alone
there I stood almost like I was glued to the spot
reluctant to move
just in case the shadow of you disappear
so I held my pose
waiting on you to make the first move
you never did,
the fire finally snuffed out
as it started to rain..
You never said a word,
just took off your jacket and covered me with it
there I stood as you turned around
and walked away

The Mocking Bird crooned
His melody of love all night
Whip-Poor-Will answered
"After Tonight" in loving delight
Finally she_ Mocking Bird
Answered, shhh! be quiet
I already "Heard It Through The Grapevine"
Cheating is your game
Around four a.m. I got a short nap

Science in all fascination has discovered a species aquatic
Theorizing this new yet old species remained hidden as Merman
only to live in secret at the oceans floor the mermaid a tribe indigenous
once said to be myth yet all proof and technology film does not lie
Tsunamis has given the ocean a true glance of the man with webbed hands
The species communes with dolphins will be under a microscope to analyze ?
" The World is not ready to see what I have " Jacques Cousteau ~
to be entered in The Science contest ~

NOT THE WRONG FEELING
When I lost my heart to the man I loved,
How could it be wrong when it felt so right,
My father told me little girl of mine, he'll ruins your life,
Brake that tender heart of yours, and give you nothing but
Strife.
But how could this be wrong when it felt so right.
Years passed by, through poverty, and illnesses,
We've endeavored to strive, forging ahead,
At times ready to just give up, to say whatever
And walk away. but with love and faith we made it
He and I, together come what may.
For both of us knew from the beginnings get go,
How could it be wrong when it felt so right.
As old ages rocking chairs are being prepared for us,
And our bodies challenge for every step that we take,
I still know he loves me, and I him, and our legacy's
Children will not turn away from us, and for this I am
Truly blessed.
When I look into my husbands eyes and see our past
Together, I know one thing to be for real no matter what,
That this could not be wrong when it feels so right.
As the light of God, shall move across my spiritual frame,
Separating my being from it's earthly form, and I move
To the Ethereal domain, to that distant shore beyond,
I know my dearest love shall be waiting their for me,
And inside a feeling lives, and in this I know and believe.
What could be wrong with this magnificent feeling, it is not
Wrong but oh so right.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
08-11-2014

A Winters Tear
Latent waves of shimmering vibrations disturb the world,
tossing leaves and forcing grass and trees to weep a lament.
My winters breath is snatched away decimated and lost.
The hidden sun glides the horizon silhouetting the mountains,
grey bubbling clouds smother the raised land with their weight.
Man and beast march head bowed in slow laboured steps,
As if to pass unnoticed like pall-bearers, to the seasons gone.
Passing familiar places they ignore my shuffling gait.
I walk this path of memories each and every day,
sometimes sitting beneath the lonely bridge of dreams.
A winter’s tear blurs my vision, as memories stir my soul,
Visions like scattered diamonds spread out to relive.
Only to trudge on to journeys end and there to rest for awhile,
Where the warmth of my family will shelter and heat my bones.
Seosamh de Burca 21/11/13

Trapped by the water, restless waves
Being pulled, dashed against the sand
Towed downward then allowed to come up for a short breath of air
Surrounded by restless water
Free at last with the air drying the water residue
Independent of the restless waves
Freedom that has long been awaited
Great breeze through trees and hair
Fire needs dryness_warmth
Sun peeking through, touching skin
Toes in soft sand viewing horizon
Of sun slowly rising dazzling color
Soon to sit by a warm winter fire
Crackling, releasing heat and light
Which warms the hearth_home
Slow burning fire internal like a volcano
Contest:Earthly Elements
Sponsor:Leighann Anderson
1) water, earth
2)air, wind
3)fire,earth
3)fire

I walked this rope so many times
Sometimes the difference so blurry
The shade I really don’t need
Yet, it’s always there, waiting…
For my thoughts to dwell
In between happy and sad
Not knowing the difference
The tears sometimes shed
Have no idea why the flow
Just like me, they are in limbo
Wondering what their worth might be
In a place where darkness reign supreme
I feign a smile, imitate a laugh
Just to get me through the day
A happy face with tumultuous thoughts
It gets so tiring being in this space
Space of pretence-
Mountain of deceit
Hopeful that maybe today,
The shade will drift away

The slave kneels in reverence temple in Karnak's hollowed halls.
A prayers silent whisper echo's against stone walls.
Rituals divine figure, a golden idle lies before honor's altar
Mother earth's first born child, she whom is known as Isis.
Deities winged goddess with wings extended across heaven.
Embracing upper and lower Egypt beneath her ivory feathers.
The giver of life, magic and wisdom.
Upon a gilded throne she sits amongst the agust royal's,
Nobility's crowns bow in highest respects
To immortals grand mistress of fertility.
The Nile's waters separate as her highness steps
Forth to welcome the dawns first rays of light.
Almighty Osiris places his hand in hers uniting as one.
The mortal world is renewed again in loves faithful devotion.
Cast down the shadow of jealousy, Set's envious hatred kills beloved's
Most sacred.
Tears of sorrows shed at deaths trembling hand.
The Nile waters rise, flowing crimson red, breeching sandy barriers.
In cautious destructive reasoning she is inconsolable, overwhelming the lands,
With Wrath's devastation.
In tidal motions emotional earthquake, creations raw power restraints give way.
Piece by piece gather the maid, thus scattered limbs appendages lain at flames
Eternal sacrificial fire, a torch burns within the darkness.
The four winds blow raven tresses to and fro and a new magic is born unto the
World of men, loves ultimate truth it shall conquer all.
Softly she speaks his name, gently she reaches out,
Restorations goddess inhales,
Exhales and Osiris once again places his hand into hers.
Living again two lovers renewed in sacred vows ceremony.
Elders elite ascend towards their astral plain beyond the gates of infinity.
Glittering scepter shinning in brilliance sunlight given by Ra himself.
In the westward kingdom they rule side by side united in noble union.
Dynasty's Egyptian divinities spirits commanding mutually
In harmony's peaceful everlasting bliss.
BY:CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Dedicated to Isis Rose

Who is that ?
Who stares at me
Within the lovely frame.
Mirror do tell!
Who is that?
Most Familiar but odd
A stranger who puzzles me
Mirror do tell!
Who is that?
With doubled chin
And quivering lips
Mirror do tell!
Who is that?
With silver tresses
Hanging Painfully thin
Mirror do tell!
Who is that?
Am I dreaming?
Its not possibly me.
Mirror do tell!
Who is that?
With wrinkled lips
And Sagging cheeks.
Mirror do tell!
Who is that?
Who hurts my eyes
To look upon its face
Mirror do tell!
Who is that?
Those eyes are mine
They do not tell a lie
Mirror it is truly I

THE SACRED GARDEN
The hearts love, is the tenderest of mercy's,
Delicate petals of emotion, a rose blossom
Of sheer beauties distinction.
That grows within the inner being, deeply
Rooted in our most sacred garden, of
Pleasures secret desires.
Vines woven intricately, weaving a thick
Tapestry, of the evergreen leaves of texture, giving
A depth of feeling to the creative soul,
Whom dwells within the artist.
Nurtured by inspiration, it's lights warmth,
Feeding the poetic inward drive to thrive,
And grow beyond the lotus structure,
Called the human body.
A pondering mind seeking to reach
Outwardly, to touch the moon and stars,
In the heaven's above.
Oh to cut freely away from my tethers,
The tangled vines of life I've weaved,
To be set free, to float away as a seed onto
A distant breeze, landing in a new pastures
Flowering bed.
But nay, I am but a mortal rose, and life
Can be cut short by the twisting sheers of fate.
Lingering thus my words reach out, as legacy's
Inheritance, my forget-me-knots, for future
Generations to come.
In this my most sacred garden, my words of
Emotions shall live on for them, my youthful children,
The true physical sprouts of my life's labors.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

a baby blue fringe
ran over the back of my hand
I stroke its silken thread
to trail a hundred
fingers of silk, over my face
tornados of chaos
surround the outer wards
and levee's wash with the
tears of family and friends
lost in halls of white
in a ball of tranquility
I sit dethroned
the Empress of Pain,
now content
to be a shadow
of yesterday
the frayed ends
of my fringe
drift through the fall
of twilight
sparkling the stars
and waxing to smile,
at man in the moon
and in dreams of faded
bits of nothing

I am one breathtaking moment
I am one who is lost or alone
I am one raindrop, or one flowering rose
I am a distant star or a meadow lark
Or one dark cloud that hovers on the horizon
I am many memories from a long ago childhood
I am many tears and sorrows
I am many rainbows and many seasons
I am many reasons to sing a love song
Or tell a story, or share the laughter, or feel the glory
I am all the colors of our world
I am a disappointment, I am a pearl
I am all races, all creeds, the scattering of seeds
I am all words unfurled into the light
I am all the broken hearts and hopes lost in the night
I am all the hurt, all the anger, all the joy, all the love
I am all who believe in God above
I am all who doubt
I am all who laugh, and sing, and wail and shout
I am unleashed, wild emotion
I am heartache, and devotion
I am lay stepping stones to healing
I renew by sharing feelings
I am a few unbroken rules, a few enchanting jewels
I am the ember, I am the spark
I am a poet.........I have a heart
I am a mother, I am a wife
The reasons for living, the loves of my life

Variegated yarn slides
and loops through my digits,
shifts from sunset hues to earthen curlicues.
Tension knots the forward carried yarn
like tales of old
in a “Sock it to me!” movie.
Serpentine needles circular as the sylvan sunset
kiss to form dance to born,
hues of orange and puce
on daring pairs of
socks for winter clogs.
Variegated angora wool seams
loop over pointer and linger under
ring fingers caught on the calloused
edges of sorely worn flesh.
Colors dimming to shades of gray
softly singing cotton halleluiahs.
“Sock it to me!” in a Goldie Hawn dream.
Click click the tips kiss pointed tongues
of steel stealing over bamboo yarns…
of jungles and fierce tiger yellow
onward knit the form
of summers socks born.
poet: Debbie Guzzi

Soft like a pillow of cotton,
tactile like a rose against skin,
cherished like the most rarest silk;
many things create an image of
comfort.
Bright like stars in the midnight
sky,
hidden like the most precious
of jewels,
secret like the unspoken whispers
of humanity;
images of peace are untouched by
bloodstained ways.
Inert like stone,
strong like steel,
diamond hearts are forever created
but lost like melting snow in the
summer sun.

If all I did was made you feel so real
Among aortas of much needed love
With silky shoulders of stern Pacific layers
Disturbed by memories of wings...
If I defected life and accepted wrinkles
Of heated rhythm in tempera of love
Although the shyness of a maiden wouldn't vanish
I long to get to know you in your destined life...
If all I did was made you stop and watch me
Smiling from a frame of wooden Jacaranda wonders
Then I can die forever in immortality of love -
The Anonymous -
in the "Wax Museum of
the Hoping Souls"...

Drowning in the pool of anguish…oh…oh…
I’m venturing into the forest…and I want to hear the words seep out
Release these aching sorrows…I worry my soul’s drying out…
like a drought…
Drain out the fluids from my heart
It’s gouging me…bruising me to the core…
**chorus**
Embrace the light…embrace the midnight sky…
You fall in my arms – you die so warm
Shed me more sun to lift up my spirits
From the…underground…and release me – I’m breathless
I’m drowning in doubt…ooh… oh…
Remember me…I’m falling…into my swirling fate…hanging on the roots
Strangling my heart…distorting in my veins… I’m bleeding so softly – cut out the wood…
Splintering me…I’m shattering… and I’m falling in the abyss
Bring me more radiance from my candle light
Warp me up in bliss…don’t let the midnight sky…don’t take away my delight
From the…ocean…and save me—save me…oh… oh… I’m failing
*chorus*
I’m drowning in regret…ooh..oh…
Hit the bull’s eye in my heart…embrace the light
And don’t leave me hanging in the abyss…hand me a kite!
Save me before I fall apart…shut out the night
And don’t let the dusk escape us…
I must confess…
I must confess…
I hate to see you abandon the light…
But I’m not the one to save you from the night
Ooh…ohh…
*Chorus*
Splintering lies fill your heart
I want to kiss it goodbye…
But you’ve mastered it like a piece of art
I want to kiss the abyss and die…
Dry… I wanna touch the sky with my whole soul
But I’m failing and the end of time has taken its toll
Tainted sorrow…swims around me…I dwell where the waters depart
But the anguish still swarms in my heart…
I’m failing…my heart stops beating
And my desires are fleeting
From my grasp
And the monsters laugh at me…as I fall…
*chorus*
Embrace the midnight sky…catch me…catch me…
As I fall in death’s arms…I die so cold
And your heart is made of gold
Untangle the darkness & take away the nightmares
Answer our prayers & block out the night
Erase the heartaches & wipe away our tears
Unravel Your words of life & delight

Once, when no star shined
on slick, black, asphalt roads,
the murky wetness
of November's watered nights
a freedom-feeling and
strangeness-sense inspired.
The moisture lubricated
sluggish mental cogs that
all the dirty, dry, autumnal season
had rusted tight and atrophied.
Wildness no man can tell
I knew then.
All November's labored length
my nightly notions filled:
my bacchic spirit soared and flew,
traveled far, saw much in waking dream,
along a single street, wet
and splotched with light from cars
which coughed their fumes
as they passed my momentary immortality.
And now...
time has come when I no longer
feel delight to revel in the wildness
that I knew:
senses, now subordinate to sense,
defuse the spell
and November nights are merely
murky.

I used to complain about having to work at night on weekends.
Everyone was having fun but li'l ol' me.
Some years back I had an epiphany on the matter.
Suddenly, I had time to cash my check AND pay my bills!
Then, I might possibly catch a movie, which has plenty of seating on Monday nights!
But my favorite part is: The People Zoo.
I started visualizing folks in their cubicles and at their counters as exhibits.
You find mostly monkeys in cubicles working for some government agency.
The sharks you'll find in the car lots and on showroom floors.
The insects buzzing and dutifully mimicking their peers are found at schools.
The buzzards and carrion feeders can be found at law firms and in courtrooms.
The bulls and bears can be found scrapping it out on Wall street,
While the elephants and donkeys exchange insults on the TV monitors.
The pigs are found cruising the streets making sure the rats and snakes don't take over.
The blood-sucking Vampire bats can be found working for insurance companies.
BUT.......
Just a warning: Most of these exhibits offer you no protection from the brutality of nature!
There are no tour guides and no guarantees of safety or fun.....
And, one more thing: They will eventually come to see you in YOUR exhibit!

All around me
Great cities made of sand.
Green sky scrapers poke through the ground
To thrive in life’s strict conditions
And melt away with the tide…
Great houses made of cards
Form lines, and tightrope walk existence,
Knowing that any moment, the wrong brick may fall
And buckle our world to its knees
As Mother Earth shouts Jenga! from the sidelines.
So while were here
We dance with the Glass Goddess
Poised miles above reality,
Leaping over the heavens on our domino stilts-
We floor it in the sky
Living death in the fast lane,
Seizing the day
Because any moment
We could disappear
Into
Jacob Reinhardt
10/15/2013